


This is Our Moment

by R_Clearwater



Series: Dashing Away with the Music Sheets, She Stole My Choir Away [4]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Finale piece, Gen, More tags to be added!, Multi, No need to overwhelm the tag set-up just yet ;D :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 108,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Clearwater/pseuds/R_Clearwater
Summary: With precision & propriety practically swapped for the scandalous attempt at sound that is a cappella music, Charles Carson thought all chaotic change was over. However, Emma Butte's cruel nature had to be unearthed. And while Chicago was a breezy blessing of its own, there are pieces to pick up.If only Elsie didn't think a musical theatre showcase was the answer….
Relationships: Anna Bates/John Bates, Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes, Elsie Hughes & Beryl Patmore, Mary Crawley/Charles Blake, Phyllis Baxter/Joseph Molesley, Thomas Barrow/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Dashing Away with the Music Sheets, She Stole My Choir Away [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1244282
Comments: 9
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: A Memory and a Plan

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Have I mentioned how great it is to be back in this series! For those who've been around for the whole deal, get ready for a one heck of a finale! I've been spending the last few months going over the main points of each story in the series and have been creating what I hope is a fitting "tag" for this little collection.
> 
> I'd also like to add, **for those who are new to this AU world** , you're really going to want the context of the prior stories. In any case, whether this is your first glimpse at this world or not, I hope you enjoy this. As a shout-out to the story that started it all, this chapter might look very familiar.

**Thursday, the 28th of November, 2019**

**4:17pm**

"I do apologize, Mrs. Crawley, but I am in full agreement when it comes to this decision."

Violet Crawley eyed the speaker at hand with more than an inkling of confusion, though she masked it quite well. The elderly woman would never dare to speak out in bewilderment or panic –– it was far too beneath her. However, her normally sharp gaze was clouded by a hint of disdain tinted with perturbation.

The speaker quietly continued, interspersing a dignified knowledge into his words, "As you have previously mentioned, the choir department cannot be expected to manage 200 students with only two teachers, not if we wish to maintain our standards."

"Indeed," This was a point that Violet Crawley could concede. "But, the question still remains: why wasn't I consulted on this matter?"

Ah, yes. The idea of consulting. More specifically, the idea of consulting with Violet Crawley, one of the most important administrators behind Downton Academy.

This was a question that the speaker had spent many weeks preparing for, a painful question he had anticipated once this plan had been brought to life. A question he'd been dreading for days, one that had him avoid the administrators' corridor for as long as possible. However, it was also now a question that he felt completely prepared for. One wherein he could honestly speak about the matter.

"Mrs. Crawley," Charles Carson was doing his best not to be patronizing, readily understanding how difficult it could be to be faced with a drastically changing future. He himself was petrified about pulling this whole idea off, about giving this new direction a chance. But a look at his fiancée sitting right by his side, a glance at the woman who encouraged him to be the best person he could be, made a world of difference.

And he found himself able to continue.

"Over this last semester, we've seen a dramatic drop in the choir program. Students who have experienced the full impact of Mrs. Butte's teachings," Here, Charles momentarily stiffened in disgust. That that debacle had been allowed to commence in the first place was something he still blamed himself for. Nevertheless, that was neither here nor there, "Rightfully decided that, for personal reasons, they needed to leave the program. This, along with a majority of the school catching wind of what happened and deciding to steer clear of the choirs, has led to a significant decrease in registration–– the lowest choral registration rate I've ever seen in all my time at Downton."

Charles stumbled with his words at this, still coming to terms with what felt like another failure on his part. Here he was, a supposedly esteemed director of a brilliant choir department, and he'd been unable to recognize what was happening until it was too late. He'd worked with the woman for several years and it had taken him far too long to finally understand what a mistake their partnership had been.

Luckily, Elsie refused to let him carry this burden alone.

"The truth is, Mrs. Crawley," The choir teacher's brogue remained light as she took over for her fiancé, a steadying _mezzo-piano_ admission, "There wasn't time for consultation. We needed to raise the morale of the choirs before it collapsed. And from my personal experience, this will raise morale."

"But,"

"Violet," Isobel had sat in on this meeting to support the teachers at hand, knowing that this would be a tough situation. As such, that meant she was also going to give them verbal support in getting their message across. "I do believe they have more to say."

"Thank you, Mrs. Crawley," Charles could speak again, having found his inner balance once again. Redirecting his gaze to the woman whose approval meant the world to him, "Now, Mrs. Crawley, would we have liked to have properly consulted you? I hope you understand that we truly would have.

"However," And this, the choir director truly regretted what he was about to explain. "In this case, proper consultation in any case was a luxury. The students needed something to look forward to before class registration began, something to encourage them to stay, and this was what we had to offer. I'm grateful to say that they immediately took to the idea, having been preparing for this showcase since we announced the possibility."

"I, for one, am all for it," Martha Levinson chimed in before Violet could get another word out, uninterested in watching an unnecessary war be waged. She'd come back for the obligatory school meetings, and this was the first one she was actually invested in. Therefore, there would be no way Cora's mother-in-law would take this away from her.

Charles twitched at this decidedly bold proclamation, unsure of how he felt about Mrs. Levinson's approval. Elsie internally sighed at the sound, appreciating the American's support but not caring for the imperious stare Violet Crawley now bestowed upon them. When she considered that Violet Crawley was a large part of the reason they had far less to worry about when it came to their upcoming wedding, Elsie almost felt frustrated for the necessity of this meeting. This meeting was quite necessary, mind; it just also happened to be quite unenjoyable to partake in.

"I do think there is something to be said for changing the game a little, spicing things up a bit."

Isobel Crawley, for all of her wonderful intentions, was not helping this time. Nevertheless, her remark did bring up a good point: the choir teachers were not alone in believing this showcase was a good idea. In other words, this change needed to happen.

Furthermore, said choir teachers had already gone ahead and made the necessary arrangements for this idea. Hence, this performance would be commencing with or without Violet Crawley's permission. So, although the administrator was inclined to continue quarreling over the issue at hand, she decided to do something else –– something she was remarkably, surprisingly good at:

"Indeed." This assent was spoken in Isobel's direction although discerning blue eyes still held the gaze of the choir director. Charles visibly relaxed at this, understanding that this was the administrator's way of agreeing to the plan. This was her way of giving some form of approval.

Needless to say, he understood that if he wanted true approval he would have to consult her on some of the finer details at hand. But, that would be for another day. Today was only about coming to terms with former expectations and announcing the future path.

"Thank you, Mrs. Crawley."

_Truly._

Violet Crawley seemed to understand everything he wasn't saying, calmly nodding in his direction. And with that agreement made, it was only a short while before that game-changing meeting came to an eventual, shockingly optimistic, conclusion:

Downton Academy would be putting on a musical theatre showcase over the next fifteen weeks. Most of the traditional spring choir competitions and concerts would be set aside in favour of one overarching performance, a show that would indubitably lift the spirits of all involved.

In other words, a change would be invading the music department this spring. A change that promised to shake things up indefinitely, one that would spring a newfound energy upon the choirs and bring them all down a different path in life, a different direction.

And, for once, no one legitimately wanted to stop it.


	2. First Meetings and Second Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Note:**   
>  Thank you for your continued patience! Definitely a longer chapter than normal, if only to help with the set-up of the story. Don’t be surprised if there’s some similarities/references to ISNSIV as well as Dashing ;)   
> 
> 
> To add a little more resolution on the Mrs. Butte front, there’ll be a mentioning of that here among other things. **Heads up for law-based readers:** I totally took some liberties on those proceedings. And, **in regards to college/uni internships,** liberties were also taken!
> 
> **Technical Note For Reading:**  
>  Thinking will look like this.  
> Singing will “look like this.”  
>  Text messages will **look like this. -- RC**

**Monday, the 6th of January, 2020**

**5:41 a.m.**

It was just the start of another day for Elsie Hughes.

That it, it was just the start of another except for a few key differences:

Instead of absorbing a dull and faded room, she could breathe in the beautiful sensation that came with the sun greeting her. Instead of vaguely stirring to life and wondering what she was doing with her life, she could wake up to the sight of Charles Carson by her side -- a sight she would happily hold onto for as long as she could. 

Subconsciously glancing down at her ring, the alexandrite gleaming in the morning haze, she smiled to herself as she brought that same hand up to cup her fiancé’s cheek. But upon realizing that it would be far more delightful to do something more than merely caress, Elsie brought her lips to his in an effort to tenderly wake up her man.

Besides, they could afford to stay in bed for a little while longer.

_._

**7:17 a.m.**

“Mary, we’re going to be late! Come on, already!” 

It was such a pity, in the eyes of the eldest Crawley sister, that Sybil was so enamored with Tom Branson she no longer walked with them to school. It meant that Edith and Rose were Mary’s only companions on days like today.

**_Did you get an email from Mrs. Hughes today? - MC_ **

She had sent this more than five minutes ago, having been awaiting his response for three of those. But it seemed Matthew Crawley had better things to do with his time than actually respond to her inquiries, apparently.

Right. Just as she was resigning herself to coldly taking to the stairs, knowing that her sister was getting impatient, the soprano felt a familiar vibration from her phone. Refraining from smiling to herself, having been eager to get his opinion on this for quite some time, she glanced down with bated breath.

**_SO, APPARENTLY, WE MIGHT BE DOING A SONG FROM RENT! -- RM_ **

**_BUT I’M NOT TELLING YOU MORE UNTIL YOU GET OUTSIDE. WE WON’T BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING IF WE’RE LATE -- RM_ **

She didn’t want to kill Rose, not really.

But the idea of seriously maiming or injuring the young woman suddenly felt appealing.

_._

**7:19 a.m.**

It was with a faint sense of curiosity that Violet Crawley approached her institution. While she did agree, somewhat begrudgingly, that change would be necessary for the choirs she still felt a sense of trepidation about the path they were on. It didn’t help to feel sidelined by a lack of consultation, but that was neither here nor there.

Now was the time to publicly support Mr. Carson and his fiancée in their music endeavours as best as she could.

If only she felt fully assured that she could.

_._

**7:37 a.m.**

“I can’t believe they’re actually going to do it!” 

Lavinia jolted from eyeing her cell phone as Rose MacClare continued to squeal about, the second soprano quite clueless as to what her friend was chattering away about. They made the unlikeliest of friends, having accidentally bumped into one another at lunch last semester, but it somehow balanced out.

“What’s going on, Rose?” The blonde curiously asked, knowing that her friend needed a moment to calm down. However, instead of continuing to elaborate, Rose opted to hold up her phone and show her. But, seeing as how it was Rose, a verbal explanation came out anyway: “Gladys just sent out a picture -- the music’s finally come in!”

It was all true. Gladys Denker had indeed sent Rose a picture that contained stacks of brand-new music. And barely glancing at the top of the stacks in the image, they could already tell what genre these new pieces were for: musical theatre.

“But, wasn’t there budget cuts last year? How can we afford to pay for new music?” Evelyn Portillo, shamelessly eavesdropping nearby, decided it was worth it to insert herself into the conversation. Fortunately, Rose didn’t care either way.

“Didn’t you hear, they kept getting money after we fundraised! Mrs. Hughes forgot to deactivate the GoFundMe page.” Here, Rose grinned as though she’d had a hand in this forgetting, “So, people kept donating to our cause after we paid for the trip.”

“You mean, we’re actually going to do this?” Evelyn asked, having not really believed that Mr. Carson would commit to putting on a musical theatre showcase. 

Rose’s grin only widened, the infectious expression quickly spreading amongst the young women, “We’re actually going to do this.”

_._ 

**9:48 a.m.**

Chords of all kinds blanketed the air as the young woman made her way up a staircase that had taken far too long to find. The sound of fingers twirling down the keys of a piano lingered in the distance, the quality of performance informing her the current pianist was a budding student.

Oh, who was she kidding? Linda Vance considered herself to be a “budding student” after all this time. And yes that was with more than a decade of musical experience at hand. But, luckily, uni had deemed her worthy enough of interning at Downton and helping the choirs pull of their showcase.

Yup. She had the backing of her uni and enough experience she felt she could pull off her first chance of assistant teaching.

If only she wasn’t atrociously late.

“Are you late, too?” 

Linda turned to the sound of a light-haired student making her way up the stairs. It only figured a student would be witnessing her fumble about.

“We’re not really late,” The younger woman continued, “But, Mr. Carson’s version of on-time is most people’s version of _really_ early. But, you’re a transfer, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

_Oh, great._ Day 1 and it was all probably over for her now. And, no, Linda didn’t have the courage to correct the situation: if this student thought her a transfer instead of an assistant teacher, she wasn’t going to correct her anytime soon.

“Excited for the new semester?” Although Linda didn’t want to correct the younger woman, that didn’t mean the teaching assistant wanted to ignore her.

“More like nervous.” The light-haired singer confessed, “I’ve never even touched musical theatre before, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be brilliant!” Her vibrant energy alone had Linda believe this student could do quite well with musical theatre.

“I dunno, I think I know who’s getting all the solos anyway.” 

At this, the teaching assistant shook her head in disbelief, refusing to give credence to that thought. 

“Well, I think you won’t know till you try. But, if that’s too cliché for you,” The singer gave a sheepish smile at this, letting Linda continue, “Try this on: the only difference between nerves and excitement is a smile.”

The student looked surprised by this sentiment, the pair of them carrying on in silence as the younger woman began to comprehend the meaning of the message. 

“Cheesy, I know,” Linda continued once it seemed appropriate, “But, I really find it to be true.”

“Miss Vance, I presume?” 

_Oh, dear._

“Good morning, Mr. Carson!” The student beside her cheerfully greeted, oblivious to Linda’s growing anxiety at the unexpected appearance of the choir director. “I’m afraid I’m the reason she’s late -- we were chatting about the new semester!”

“Were you now?” Reigning in what semblance of serenity she had left, Linda met the gaze of the imperious man with a hesitant smile. She couldn’t read anything in those brown eyes of his, nothing other than an aloof wall that shielded whatever was on his mind. “Yes, well, I’d like a word with Miss Vance, Ellie.”

The unspoken command deeply embedded in his statement, Linda could only detachedly watch as Ellie quickly carried herself up the steps to the second fourth floor. Though, reminding herself of the advice she’d only just offered to Ellie, Linda held on tightly to a small smile.

“So, you’re our volunteer teaching assistant, then?” He already knew the answer, but wanted official confirmation. No doubt as to begin a lecture on punctuality and why she would be soon getting the boot.

“That’s right. Mr. Carson, I presume?” In retrospect, her hint of cheek was in poor taste. It certainly was the opposite of smooth, that much was evident. But, if nothing else, at least she tried to be friendly despite feeling terribly off-balance. 

“I take it you enjoy being late to your duties?” At this, Linda decided to squarely meet the choir director in the eye. By this point, she’d accepted her fate of a stern lecture if not leaving altogether, and was going to hold her ground as best as she could.

“Not exactly, Mr. Carson, no.” She wouldn’t tell him that this was the most exciting opportunity she’s had in ages -- he probably wouldn’t care by now. But, she did need to confess as to what held her back this morning: “There was an accident on the motorway this morning, one I hadn’t planned for.”

And then there was getting lost in the building because she thought there was no time to ask for directions. She wound up bumping into some English teacher who gave her a knowing look and shooed her in the direction of this stairwell. Yet, somehow, Linda had a feeling that Mr. Carson didn’t care about her struggles in this labyrinthe of a school.

“I’m sure there was.” Judging from his cordial tone, Linda was not winning any favours with the man. But, since he wasn’t demanding she leave the premises at once, there was hope.

Of course, the day was young and she has a special knack for catastrophe.

“Well, it’s too late to help with attendance.” Linda leapt back into the present moment as Mr. Carson began to speak, “So you can help this next period by filing some music away. There’s some sheet music from the previous semester that hasn’t been dealt with yet.”

“Right.” Inwardly thanking her lucky stars she still had an internship, “I promise that this won’t happen again, Mr. Carson.”

“See that it doesn’t, Miss Vance.”

_._ 

**10:51 a.m.**

Normally, Phyllis Baxter was all for spending her lunch period with her significant other, Joseph Moseley. However, what with the mysterious invitation she received this last weekend, her mind was far from her 

“You mean, Mrs. Hughes sent you an email about some singing thing?”

“Through our official school emails, yes,” The alto was still confused by the whole thing, having re-read the message about four times by now. Joseph tried his best to look away from the phone screen at the sight of the email, but eventually she handed over the device for him to peruse. 

“You sure?” While Phyllis wasn’t the most private of people, she didn’t hand over her phone to anyone. She never explained why privacy was important and he never asked. But that just meant this was even more important than he anticipated.

“Yeah.” Of course she trusted him with her phone. In her mind, that only made perfect sense.

Taking a glimpse at the device in question, Joseph began to quietly read.

**_Dear Phyllis,_ **

**_I would appreciate it if we could meet after-school to discuss a singing opportunity I have in mind for you. There is no pressure to agree to anything, but I would like to chat. Please let me know when you’ve received this email and if you are available to meet._ **

**_Best,_ **

**_Mrs. Hughes_ **

“I personally think it’s sweet she’s cool with us calling her ‘Mrs. Hughes’, to the point where she signs off with it.” He eventually offered this comment because he had no idea what else to say. Phyllis snorted a bit, smiling at this adorable quality of her boyfriend’s. That he wanted to help and that he was willing to say something even when he didn’t know what to do, all of that brought her a lot of joy.

“I just wish I knew what was going on, you know?”

“Of course I do, Phyll,” The young singer blushed a little at the nickname, still not used to him calling her that but enjoying it very much. “But, whatever’s going on, I’m here to help.”

And _that_ was only one of the many reasons she was grateful to be dating him.

_._

**1:27 p.m.**

As the bell began to signal the start of the seventh period, Elsie Hughes felt a weight drop within her. This time last year, there had been more than sixty young women participating in or the Treble Choir. Today, she counted not more than thirty before her.

_Charles wasn’t lying when he spoke of low registration rates._ Something the teacher knew going into this school year, but something she found to be disheartening nevertheless. Especially when she could tell that the scars from the older students had latched onto the younger ones, the ones who never had to deal with Mrs. Butte. 

This was a reality Elsie had already had a semester to get used to. And while she had essentially made peace with this fact, today seemed to be a day wherein peace was not quite possible. 

“Good afternoon, ladies!" 

But, the silver lining was that these young women before her had long since started to let go of their trepidation about singing. That, they had begun to trust her to an extent that she felt they were quite ready for the semester ahead. 

Now it was only a matter of reassuring them that they did have this all well in hand.

_._

**2:22 p.m.**

“Just like last semester, there will be one opening and two finale pieces that involve the entire choir. However, as you already heard earlier, every choir will have only three songs to perform.” Mrs. Hughes kept a light air about her, looking to be intentionally oblivious to the excitement Edith felt from the entire room. 

“Now, each song will have costumes and there will be stage-blocking when we’re ready for it,” The Scot continued on, explaining that the rehearsals for the _a cappella_ choir would be similar to the other choirs: in the beginning they’d be focused on purely learning the music. The focus would then shift to staging the production in the auditorium and ensuring that the choir segments of music were solidified. Once that occurred, there’d be a few mandatory after-school rehearsals so the choirs could work with the band and orchestra -- the goal being to get the entire department involved.

“Are there any questions-- yes, Rose?” All heads turned in exasperation to the soprano in question, knowing she could barely contain her excitement.

“Mrs. Hughes, what are the songs we’ll be working with this semester?”

Snickers and chuckles broke out at this, all the students well aware that the older woman was going to get to that part in a minute. What would be the point otherwise?

“Before we discuss that, are there any _other_ questions?” Rose blushed at this but continued to boldly hold the gaze of her teacher until it was clear there were no other questions to be had. “Right.”

_._

**2:23 p.m.**

Discreetly sparing a glance in the direction of Mr. Carson’s desk, Mrs. Hughes approached her own desk with an unusual sense of trepidation. Unbeknownst to the choir, this first song they’d be working with was not one of her own selection. Nor was it her fiancé’s, much to his frustration.

It was entirely thanks to Cora Crawley that this particular song was being performed.

“We will only be looking at one piece today,” This is what she got for being abnormally indecisive about what the _a cappella_ choir should perform. Everyone else had been fairly easy; there were far too many possibilities in this realm for her to make a simple decision. Consequently, the rest of the _a cappella_ music was still being shipped to Downton. “It is a barbershop arrangement, so there won’t be an official solo.”

_But, just what_ **_is_ ** _the song, Mrs. Hughes?_ She could hear that question fervently buzz around the room, though none of them would dare to speak up.

Gripping the stack of music in her hands, Elsie hoped this wasn’t a mistake and reminded herself that she had once enjoyed this musical. Or, at least, Beryl had and she’d gone along for the ride and walked away unable to get it out of their heads. It _was_ catchy, that was for sure. And she had eventually found herself singing some of the bits, willingly, when she was well out of her friend's earshot.

_._

**2:24 p.m.**

Edith watched as Mrs. Hughes brought all thirty-five copies of some sheet music to the piano, the writer getting the vibe that something was off. When the older woman proceeded to turn back to them without another word, as though they could read her mind, she _knew_ this was not going to be their normal bit.

“Mrs. Hughes?” Bless Sybil for being one of the few who could break the confusion and find out what was going on. “Is everything all right?”

“It is.” Looking to regain herself, “Our first song we will be performing is ‘Summer Nights’ as from the musical _Grease_.”

The reaction to this news was, suffice to say, mixed. 

_._

**4:13 p.m.**

“And how did you fare today?” Madalynn Thorn had been a little surprised to see that choir teaching assistant trudge down the stairs this late in the day. She figured most teaching assistants would’ve bolted as soon as possible, which would’ve been about an hour ago. 

“Pretty all right. Though I do have one question.” Madalynn smiled in amusement at this, not necessarily feeling that she was the best person to answer a choir-related question. 

“Wouldn’t it be more suitable to ask Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes about any questions you have?”

Here’s where the teaching assistant looked a little sheepish, “It’s about them, actually.”

“Oh?” Madalynn prepared herself for the worst, thoroughly ready to defend her friends’ honour if need be. If this woman thought she could besmirch the name of some of the finer teachers in this school, she had another thing coming.

“Are they engaged?” The younger woman blurted this before she could think it through, the words fumbling out without a trace of eloquence. 

The whole thing sent Madalynn straight into snickers. And when she finally did recover half a minute later, much to the confusion of the woman before her, she only had one question for the assistant:

“Did the rings not give it away?”

_._

**4:37p.m.**

“Finished with the day have you?” 

Beryl made sure to keep a good eye on Elsie, knowing that her smile was already far more weary than normal. But, it made sense: there were a lot more responsibilities this time around, both for the choirs and for themselves.

“Beryl, You know as well as I that these days are never quite finished.” The redhead dryly chuckled at this, being quite familiar with the feeling. 

“Have you found us a tenor at least?” After talking to their friends from the other pond, it’d been suggested that -- to increase the presence of barbershop singing at Downton -- there should be a faculty barbershop quartet. Interestingly enough, Clar had little to do with this suggestion: it’d been mostly thanks to Liam, Elena, and Joylin.

Problem is, it was hard to form a proper quartet on top of directing a showcase _and_ planning a wedding. Luckily, Phoebe had volunteered to step in for the role of baritone, citing that it’d be the perfect reason for Carlisle and Downton to collaborate. It’d even inadvertently led to their other brilliant idea, a collaborative idea still in the works but one that would hopefully pan out.

In any case, with Phoebe’s help, they now only needed to find a tenor and figure out the music in order to make this work -- something that, in theory, wasn’t all that too difficult to orchestrate. 

“I haven’t had the time,” Elsie confessed darkly, frustrated with herself. “You’d think, having gone through this before, it’d be easier the second time around.”

But, with every decision came a pang. A pang that reminded her of what had once been. A nibbling concern that spoke to the fear that it would all repeat -- that they would be happy, so very happy, but something would happen and she would lose Charles just like she did Joe. It’d been enough of a worry she’d been flinging herself into this showcase more so than the wedding. She even mentioned the worry to Charles, but that’d been months ago. The fear still lingered, bringing her to focus on all of this.

Except, this showcase was as stressful as the wedding -- it was only for entirely different reasons. Working with the trauma left behind by Emma Butte, carefully picking pieces that everyone would adore, focusing on the details necessary to keep them going, understanding what went into hosting a competition, it was more than its fair share of work.

“Els, you know weddings are always gonna be stressful. Absolutely worth it, but absolutely stressful.” Beryl sharply reminded her, not wanting to see that self-beration continue. And, knowing that the subject had to be positively shifted if sanity were to remain, “The budget’s been finalized, right?” Although the Scot nodded in relief, Beryl wasn’t finished yet, “And I do believe you’ve got the perfect cake topper!”

Outright snorting at the fond memory, “We do indeed!”

Archie Philpotts, Beryl’s dear nephew, had been so kind as to volunteer his services for that. The end result was an incredibly endearing hand-made cake topper. Adorned with colorful scrawls only a child could make, Archie had cut out and glued together a topper that read as, “MR. AND MRS. HUGHES” -- something that never failed to crack Beryl, Elsie, or even Charles up. 

Which, speaking of the choir director, “I still can’t get over the fact that _he_ was the one who said we simply had to use that topper in the wedding!”

“I suppose that’s just life for you,” Elsie said, not having been too surprised by it. Tickled and absolutely agog with delight? Undoubtedly. However, having gotten to know her fiancé more and more, that moment had come as less of a surprise and more of an affirming joy. 

“Oh, sure, it’s ‘just life’.” Beryl began to snicker, “Or, perhaps, it’s ‘just’ a change in the bedroom?”  
  


Fully distracted by the implications, as was the hope of her friend, “Beryl Patmore! Might I remind you that...”

_._

**Thursday, the 9th of January, 2020**

**3:42p.m.**

_“So, you’re telling me,”_ It was a habit of his to walk back home on the phone and briefly chat with Danny at least a few times during the week. They did make a habit of texting when they could and Snapchatting as well. But, with the time difference, the pair had learned to become accustomed to contact that wasn’t as frequent as other couples. _“That you just found out your evil teacher from hell-- I mean, from the last few years,”_ Thomas couldn’t help the guffaw that escaped at that, pleased Danny understood what Mrs. B had been like. _“Can no longer teach, like, at all. And, not only that, she’s even gonna serve a sentence now that the verdict’s been determined?”_

“Yup.” It’d been something that had been in the background of the fall semester, something that none of the students would ever broach in front of Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes unless they had to. But, the teaching duo had announced as such earlier this week and now Thomas was getting a chance to briefly update his boyfriend. 

_“So, you guys can put it all behind it you now?”_

Sighing a bit, “I’m not sure how long it’ll take for _that_ to happen, but it’s officially done with, yes.”

_“Well, that’s something! And, your former friend’s run off to do a program in India?”_

The baritone nodded, having been relieved that O’Brien was out of the picture these days. But, when he remembered Danny couldn’t actually see him, “Right.”

_“Annnddd was I wrong in seeing that you got a chance to do some special singing?”_

Thomas chuckled at this, remembering the text he’d sent before meeting with Mrs. Hughes earlier this week, hardly believing the time that'd flown since then “Honestly, I still have to say yes to all of that.”

_“And why wouldn’t you?”_

The baritone sheepishly paused, ruminating over the email and discussion he had with the Scot from before. It certainly been intriguing, but he needed to think about it a little more before saying anything for sure. Besides, he didn’t know for sure who he’d be working with. And while that wouldn’t make or break his decision, it would have an impact.

But, before Thomas could explain “ _Oh, I am so sorry, but my next class is about to start so I gotta go. We’ll talk later, all right?’_

“Of course!” These phone-calls were one of the highlights of the week; he wouldn’t miss them for the world. 

_“Love you!”_

Now past the point of caring about being overheard in public, “Love you, too!” 

And, holding onto a small smile for himself, Thomas hung up the call and looked around the snowy landscape. They were crawling into the worst of winter, but somehow that didn’t phase him. Mrs. Butte was gone for good, Mr. Carson had actually loosened up and allowed Mrs. Hughes to put on a musical theatre showcase, his relationship with Danny was still going strong even with the distance, and he’d be graduating in a few months. 

All in all, it was really smooth-sailing as of late. To the point where he found himself warily eyeing the outside world for a beat, waiting for some form of bad luck to suddenly befall him because it all felt too good to be.

But, all the world contained for him today was peace.

And, if Thomas had learned anything from this last year, it was to take advantage of these kinds of days. 

Because they certainly didn’t last forever.

_._

**5:03 p.m.**

Francesca Barnes, the head of choral studies at Carlisle Institute, was not nervous, per se. Rather, she was hesitant. Cautious, quite possibly to a fault. Still, caution and not-nervousness aside, she could acknowledge that Phoebe Miller’s plans tended to succeed. 

Or, at least, the plans that didn’t involve Emma Butte tended to succeed. 

Nevertheless, “You do realize that there’s a lot of pressure for success with this one, yes?”

Phoebe Miller calmly met her director’s stare, knowing that this plan would change a lot if it succeeded. That, it would quite possibly begin to bring a kinder reputation to Carlisle’s doors. That, at the very least, it would begin to form an alliance many thought impossible.

“I do.”

“Right.” She still didn’t like the sound of this. “Carlisle has agreed then?”

“We’ve got permission, yes.” Phoebe Miller took a glimpse at her phone, hoping for an interruption. She really did like her boss and friend, she also happened to be quite uninterested in stressing out about the situation until it was time to do so. And, contrary to what Francesca was liable to say, that older woman was quite the worry-wart. “Which reminds me: I’m actually to meet with Mrs. Hughes tomorrow to discuss some more details. Will you be all right handling part of the rehearsals without me?”

Francesca nodded, “We’ll manage. You just make sure Downton sticks to their agreement.”

“Of course.” 

Granted, it wasn’t Mrs. Hughes that Francesca was worried about. It was the choir director that Francesca suspected of backing out, Mr. Charles Carson. Still, the key in this instance was to maintain good relations. So long as that occurred and Downton began to realize that Carlisle did not have to be a rival Francesca would be satisfied.

Or, at least, that’s what she told herself. 

Truth be told, the director of Carlisle Institute was still floored by the fact that they were getting this opportunity. That this unexpected gift fell into their lap and it wasn’t some sort of trap, as far as she could tell. It felt like it was only yesterday that she was hearing about the whole thing, even though it’d been weeks in the making now. 

_._

**_Thursday, the 12th of December, 2019_ **

**_3:14 p.m._ **

_“Phoebe? Francesca Barnes was all for admiring her colleague’s determination to excel at teaching, but the director of the choral program at Carlisle Institute hardly felt that late hours needed to be kept, what with the Winter Choral Concert being over for more than a week. “What are you still doing here? It’s getting late.”_

_“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Now, that was a bit alarming for the director to hear. Phoebe Miller was one of the more punctual and attentive individuals within the school. Her rehearsals always ran right on schedule, the timing usually being quite impeccable. “Oh, I see what you mean.”_

_Now that her subordinate was taking the time to glance at the closest clock in the room of 144, Francesca took a moment to closely observe her colleague. The woman had been showing signs of stress lately, and not just the kind that came with pulling off a successful show. It wouldn’t be obvious to the outside world, but Francesca liked to believe that she had known Phoebe long enough to see the tell-tale signs._

_In short, something was up and Francesca was determined to find out just what._

_“Phoebe,” Maneuvering over to the table that her colleague had currently taken over, setting aside the music sheets delicately laid out -- already, her friend was prepping for the springtime shows and competitions. “Is everything all right?”_

_However, Francesca didn’t stop there. Leaning against the table slightly, the woman kept her posture fairly relaxed and positioned so as to seem unassuming. She then went on, upon seeing her friend struggle to speak, to tilt her head at a slight angle. It was an old tip that a communications teacher had taught her -- a cue that normally coaxed people into being a bit more open than normal._

_Because sometimes taking care of your friends meant that you had to do less talking and more subtle action. You couldn’t always ask them what was on their mind, you needed to show that it was truly all right._

_“Actually,” Phoebe was still hesitant, but she looked more willing to talk than normal. “I had an idea about the spring. Well, it wasn't just my idea. But,”_

_When realizing that her colleague needed a little more encouragement, “Go on.”_

_“Well, it’s a bit unorthodox, really.” Francesca refrained from letting any obvious sense of emotion appear on her face. She kept her demeanour reassuringly calm, imagining herself to be in the midst of a musical piece that demanded the most considerate expression she could possibly give. “And, it involves Downton Academy.”_

_“Does it now?” Well, now she had to know everything._

_And, little did Francesca Barnes know, soon enough she would indeed know_ everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No worries, I won’t be stringing out the suspense for much longer! 
> 
> But, on a note of curiosity: Since Matthew and Mary are distant cousins, I don’t know how I feel about their being together in a Modern AU. They’re definitely a classic pairing of mine on the show, but somehow the context feels different in this setting. Any thoughts?


	3. Brigadoons and Haughty Tunes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This chapter should have more answers to any questions you have. It also contains a healthy dose of Chelsie sweetness amongst other things.
> 
> **Technical Note:** New form of communication! 
> 
>   
>  _This is what written notes passed in class will look like! –– RC_  
> 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Friday, the 10th of January, 2020**

**7:14 a.m.**

The idea of the normal Downton choir sound being mashed up with musical theatre, something she always thought was way too American for their school, that was somewhat believable. Not _completely_ believable, especially considering what she thought Mr. Carson's opinion about all that stuff would be. But it was a little believable with Mrs. Hughes around.

Add to that the fact that she herself could actually get a solo in an actual _show_ , not just singing in the shower, and the young singer was starting to trust this show was for real.

Multiply all of that by the realization that, in the grand scheme of musical theatre, she knew more about show-tunes than most of her peers and it became more than a little believable this was going to be awesome.

It became _probable_.

So, with all of that in mind, what was the problem for Molly Curtis?

Honestly?

Her love for this genre was getting in the way.

Especially because it led her to this moment.

She really wasn't supposed to be up here, not yet. But, the door to 402 was unlocked and no one had yelled at her upon entering. In fact, nobody was around the rooms. So, she took that as a cue it was all right to be here. That she could go about and get a closer look at the upcoming songs.

The stacks of sheet music radiated a hypnotic warmth in their little corner of the room, furtively placed and waiting to be perused. These were the songs Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes tucked into the back, the remaining songs in the entire set list. The ones that the choirs weren't going to touch until later.

It was the reason she'd come here in the first place. Because, the truth was, Molly craved an answer when it came to knowing _all_ of the songs in the showcase. She didn't want to wait for the weeks it would take to hear about each and piece individually, she wanted to know all of them this very instant.

Problem was, she probably wasn't supposed to be here. Worse yet, it didn't look like all the songs were there. Mrs. Hughes had mentioned that some of the music would be taking its time getting shipped in, and it looked like the Scot was right. Something which was disappointing but not surprising.

Still, the ones that were here had her beaming in delight.

"I Could Have Danced All Night" _,_ "Blue Skies" _, "_ Anything You Can Do" _,_ these were only some of the songs she'd grown up with. And when she realized "My Favorite Things" and "42nd Street" were going to be performed, Molly couldn't help but grin to herself as she continued to take a glimpse at everything. This was her childhood, this was what got her through so many rough days, and –– and only a few feet away was the one piece she hadn't immediately recognize.

Walking over to the largest stack of sheet music, the Bel Canto girl approached the sheet music with great curiosity. Molly had seen the name of this song listed amongst all the other ones she could audition for, but she'd never heard of it before. Approaching it, her curiosity fervently bubbling more and more the closer she stepped, Molly laid a hand on top of the stack, ready to finally get some answers.

"And what brings you up here so early?"

Whipping around, furiously blushing at the sight of Linda Vance standing in the doorway, Molly began to stammer away some sort of excuse in the vain hope it'd let her escape with her dignity intact.

"Ju–– just wanted to see what we'd be doing this semester, Miss Vance."

"You're in Bel Canto, right?" The young brunette nodded tentatively, not knowing if she was about to get suspended or something worse for being here. She didn't know the rules for this sort of thing, and she knew that if she'd done this with Emma Butte around she would've been liable to lose any chance of a future solo.

"Yes, Miss Vance." Because only the teachers referred to the assistant teacher as Linda. "My name's Molly. Molly Curtis."

"Friends with Isabel, Claire, and that redhead, right?"

"Isabel, Claire, and Jane. Oh, and Charlotte, but she's in Advanced." The young singer affirmed, smiling a bit at the thought of her friends, "Oh, and it's Jane Wayne, not Moorsum. Completely different person. Though I suppose their name is something they have in common. But, it doesn't matter. Honestly, Miss Vance, I didn't mean to do anything! I just wanted to see what we would all be working on and I really didn't mean to––"

The blonde held up a hand, stopping the flow of guilt before it could escalate any further, "Curiosity, Molly, is no crime."

This stopped the brunette in her scurrying tracks, easing a little tension from her shoulders. Which was enough for teenage fascination to re-emerge.

"Do you have a favourite musical, Miss Vance?"

This would be how the choir teachers would find them later, the pair maintaining a back-and-forth right up until there were ten minutes left before the start of school. Charles looked thoroughly confused by this whereas Elsie opted for full appreciation.

"I told you she'd fit in just fine," The Scot would later knowingly interject, quietly murmuring this after the pair had left 402 to carry about with their respective tasks.

But whether she was referring to Molly or Linda, he'd never know.

_._

**8:04 a.m.**

"Now, I'd like to remind you all that if you are selected for a solo, you will not be able to audition for another one. While there may be a small ensemble opportunity down the road, an opportunity which _might_ be open to everyone, as of today our rule is that you cannot audition for another part if you've already been selected for one. You may choose to decline the offered role and audition for something else, but do keep in mind that you are not guaranteed to be selected for another solo. We must be fair to each and every student auditioning, after all." Mr. Carson intoned all of this imperiously, gesturing for Mrs. Hughes to continue.

"And so, in an effort to maintain fairness," She continued, pleased to see that everyone was still focused, "We have the entire set-list on hand for everyone to peruse."

Unsurprisingly, most of the young men in the room straightened in their seats at that announcement. Needless to say, the teaching couple had recognized it would be unfair to ask them to audition on the spot and _not_ show them all of the options.

"You are more than welcome to ask any questions you may have. But, do note that we have already marked the songs that your choir, the Bass Choir, will be able to audition for."

Glancing at the list resting on top of the piano, a list they'd spent weeks composing, Elsie scanned it once again for the ones Bass could audition for: "Seasons of Love" from _Rent_ , "You'll Never Walk Alone" from _Carousel_ , "One Day More" from _Les Misérables_ , "Hushabye Mountain" from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!_ and another personal favourite they were hoping to receive many auditions for.

"But, before you can look at this list, we have one more announcement to make. _And_ ," She was losing their focus, but hopefully this next part would retain it, "A question to pose."

_._

The two young women had been discreetly passing notes to each other in-class, deciding to forego texting for the old-fashioned version of sending messages. Alyssa Cummings had been the impish culprit this time, deciding that Ms. Feather's history lesson was worth a mental skip today, _especially_ after hearing the shocking announcement in Bel Canto.

_Girl! Can you believe Mr. C and Mrs. H asked us if we wanted to COMPETE on top of everything else going?_ –– _AC_

Maribel Diaz took more convincing to break the rules of school, biting her lip for a solid few seconds as she stared down at the note. But Ms. Feather was convinced to keep lecturing about the key differences between the infamous French Revolution and the July Revolution of 1830 –– the older woman perfectly oblivious to anything going on in the back of the room.

_Yeah, I don't really want to compete, not with everything else going on. But I reaalllyyyyy want a shot at "One Day More". And, maybe, "Holding Out for a Hero"?_ –– _MD_

Alyssa smiled at this, encouragingly beaming in the direction of the fellow soprano.

_I know EXACTLY what you mean. Why learn all those really boring competition bits when we can focus on something FUN? And I like "Holding Out" but I REALLY want to try for "Seasons"! Do you know who's gonna audition next week?_ _\- AC_

This is where Maribel began to pout a little. Not only because she was offended by Alyssa's lack of love for "One Day More", but because she'd begun to think about who had announced their plans to audition for this first round of songs. These thoughts of her were in conjunction to thinking about who in all the choirs was liable to get all the parts.

_I heard Camellia talking about it, of course, and a few others. But I'm sure that everyone in the Concert Choir will get something for "One Day More", it is open to them. So maybe we shouldn't even bother? –– MD_

This mentality was not something Alyssa Cummings was ever going to take –– especially not from her best mate!

_MARIBEL DIAZ, THAT'S EXACTLY WHY WE SHOULD BOTHER! ––_ _AC_

Hastily reaching for the slip of paper, Maribel began to dictate her concerns.

_But––_

Alyssa was not in the mood, snatching up their notes before the other girl had a chance.

_Besides, maybe you'll get a chance to sing with_

"Maribel, Alyssa, is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

It seemed Ms. Feather was not as oblivious as she appeared.

**_._**

**11:28 a.m.**

They'd gone downstairs on a whim, talking about how important it would be to understand the space before-hand. Linda merely raised an eyebrow in response, saying how surprised she was that they didn't already have the whole auditorium memorized. They'd been a little sheepish upon hearing this, but she hadn't teased them for much longer, stating how "vitally important" it was that they go look at the area "in the name of musical theatre".

And, at first, it had been invigorating. Stepping back into the auditorium, having not needed to do so since rehearsals for Chicago, it had been a grand treat to step into the auditorium once more. Yet, just like over the summer, they both couldn't help but eye the entrance to the basement with more than a little sense of dread, still remembering all that could've happened on that fateful day with Green.

Still, as haunting as those hours had been, both Elsie and Charles couldn't stay trapped in that moment forever. Hence, the current conversation being held here instead of tucked away on the second fourth floor: discussing potential duets and solos for the students. What with auditions beginning soon,it was time to focus on a matter a little less pressing: individual performances.

Or, more specifically, potential duets. Seeing as how the Concert Choir had until the end of the week to tell the pair about whether or not they wanted to compete in the small ensemble/solo competition –– the competition slated to be at The Center this year –– the two choir teachers didn't want to sort out any solos until they absolutely had to.

"Charles, you know as well as I that, as age appropriate as 'Where or When' may be, there's certainly not enough variety in the lyrics to maintain interest for the students _or_ the audience." Arching an eyebrow, Elsie dutifully explained, "' _And though it seems as though we've met before, and laughed before, and loved before, who knows where or when?'_ is almost the entire song!"

Needless to say, she wasn't the biggest fan of the song.

"Even so, it's not a bad choice, all things considered. Maybe we could add in some choreography or something." Her eyebrow rose further, her lip biting currently occurring only because she didn't want to outright snort at the idea. Now it was he who felt like rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, taking her point quite well.

"Right. 'Where or When' will be saved for sometime later, then." _In other words, we're never performing it, are we?_

_Oh, I'm so glad you understand._

"Right. Well, 'As Long As You're Mine' is probably too risqué for them, even though they are teenagers." Elsie turned away to think about the matter, muttering various thoughts such as, "Much as I like 'Take Me or Leave Me', that's also out of the question, maybe a duet involving friendship instead?" and left her fiancé to wrack his own brain over the matter.

Interestingly enough, the man already had another idea. This particular duet had been bouncing around in his mind ever since he had started researching musicals this fall. But the urge to bring it into the spotlight today had been dimmed by her own enthusiasm. After all, he didn't want to dominate what clearly wasn't his area of expertise. And yet, with the fact that Elsie was struggling to think of something appropriate and fun, he felt now was as good a time as any to make the suggestion.

Though, this time, Charles wasn't going to just state it.

" _Maybe the sun gave me the power,"_ She chuckled with a surprised recognition, looking over at him with impressed wonderment. _Brigadoon_ was one of the few well-known musicals that mentioned Scotland, let alone took place there. And for someone who repeatedly confessed to knowing very little about musical theatre, this was a stunning piece to pull out of thin air. " _For I could swim Loch Lomond and be home in half an hour."_

Further encouraged to enjoy this moment that was just the two of them, another idea struck the man. Impulsively spurred on by the song, he reached out for his fiancée, spinning her around him the moment their hands met –– tickled to see her face light up at his touch. " _Maybe the air gave me the drive."_ And slowly kissing Elsie as though they were already married, he softly parted from her lips to murmur, " _For I'm all aglow and alive."_

And, now, leading them in a back-and-forth sway, one that required no music, " _What a day this has been! What a rare mood I'm in! Why, it's almost like being in love,"_

"Is it now?" Elsie teased, thinking that would take him away from the lyrics and figuring he'd want to call it a day on the singing. Though, seeing as how they rarely indulged in these sentimental sort of things, she hardly minded the enchanting change in events.

She should've known nothing would've deterred him from his playful serenade. After all, this was the man who had to let a song finish if it had already played the first chorus; naturally, he was going to finish his performance.

" _There's a smile on my face for the whole human race,"_ Even though her fiancé had transposed the original key for his range, the woman couldn't help but feel as though his timbre and tone sounded perfect for the piece. " _Why, it's almost like being in love."_

Hearing her phone buzz briefly from the piano, Elsie halfheartedly turned to leave his arms and address it. But, not wanting this moment to be ruined by anyone, Charles twirled her back into his arms and held her gently as she questioningly looked up at him. _Please,_ his eyes solemnly requested, _let's have this moment for ourselves._

_Suppose it's something urgent?_ Her eyes glanced back at the device hesitantly.

_Suppose they know they can call if it_ is _urgent,_ He reminded her, watching the weight of responsibility falter at his look. It was fairly logical reasoning, logical enough that Elsie couldn't argue with it.

Not that she really wanted to.

" _All the music of life,"_ What would normally be booming sound in the recordings was currently resting at _sotto voce_ , meant to soothe the concerns of his fiancée. " _Is like a bell that is ringing for me."_

With another thoughtful kiss, one placed gently into her lovely hair, " _And from the way that I feel, when that bell starts to peel,"_ Continuing to sway once more, Charles could feel Elsie let go of fixating on a future they couldn't predict. In other words, the phone had been long since forgotten. " _I could swear I was falling, I would swear I was falling, it's almost like being in love."_

With both teachers now fully devoted to performing the piece in their own special way, they readjusted themselves, proceeding to stride about the stage as though they were in the show. It was a bit of tongue-in-cheek humour for they were fully aware that such a performance would never occur. But, it was a bit of sweet fun, one they intended on thoroughly enjoying.

" _When we walked up the bray,"_ Charles looked at Elsie with more fondness than he thought possible as she effortlessly continued to gently chime, " _Not a word did we say. It was almost like being in love."_

Fully taking the reins of the duet over, Elsie's eyes sparkled, her smile twinkling as they let their arms further intwine, " _With your arms linked in mine, made the world kind of fine."_

" _It was almost like being in love,"_ He wholeheartedly agreed, sharing another sweet peck before twirling her out toward the center of the stage once more –– taking great pride in listening to her voice swirl around the space.

" _All the music of life seems to be,"_ Although she wore trousers befitting of a teacher, it was as though the skirts of a ballgown swirled around her as the woman graciously spun, still able to maintain fantastic breath control with the _crescendo._

" _Like a bell that is ringing for me!"_ Joining her in the center, their voices affectionately came together in one final chorus as they danced about the stage.

" _And from the way that I feel,_

_When that bell starts to peel."_

" _I could swear I was falling,"_ She murmured in his ear, being tenderly dipped as he concurred that, " _I would swear I was falling,"_

" _It's almost like being in love."_

Waltzing one final time to the swell of an invisible orchestra, the couple finished their little dance. The world was forgotten to them as they basked in the pleasure that came with their simple song and dance, content to remain in one another's arms until the next bell rang.

And when she eventually opened up her phone to discover that it had only been a spam email of sorts, the woman could only chortle in amusement. Something that he easily echoed when he caught on to just what had happened.

"As I told you, Elsie," She glowed at the sound of her name being uttered in the auditorium, loving how it reverberated around the space. "If it's an emergency, they will call."

"I do believe you're right, Charles." And if he blushed at the resonance that came with hearing his name bounce around the air, the rolling of the "R" delightfully spinning out, well, it was no matter of consequence.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

_._

**11:37 a.m.**

She shouldn't have been this indulgent. But, solos and musical theatre had been on her mind for a really long time, and she couldn't help herself with this.

" _On my own,"_ Lavinia Swire half-whispered to herself, trudging up the stairs after a disheartening lunch period. Normally, Laura or Ellie or Rose would've spent the period with her, but they'd all been caught up in their own worlds. And, normally, that wouldn't be bothering her.

But, today didn't feel normal.

Not really.

Continuing to carry herself up the steps, the wish continued to escape:

" _Pretending he's beside me."_

Although she knew that _Les Mis_ would be a part of the show, this specific song probably wouldn't. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had been adamant that any musical chosen would have only one song picked, _even_ if someone from the Concert Choir was requesting a separate, competitive solo. So, if they were already doing "One Day More" from _Les Mis_ , the teachers wouldn't incorporate "On My Own". And, anyway, this song didn't strike her as the grandest part of the show, even though the haunting lyrics had been spinning 'round her mind for the last fifty minutes without fail.

" _All alone,_

_I walk with him 'till morning."_

It wasn't really singing that she performed right now, the breathy droplets of hope scattering themselves among the air. Singing was what Mrs. Hughes or Mary Crawley did, not her. Theirs was that beautiful sort of sound that the world craved to hear, a sound she could never really reproduce, much to her disappointment.

" _Without him, I feel his arms around,"_ And she did, she really did. It made these not-so-normal days feel better, it made the disconcerting world easier to face. When the two students realized lunch would not be shared this year, when school had gotten tougher, this feeling helped remind her she wasn't alone. " _And when I lose my way I close my eyes, and––"_

The bell rang, insistently reminding the soprano that she would be late to class. Yet, still, Lavinia clung to one thought throughout all of it, something that would make this next class easier:

" _And he has found me."_

_._

**2:17 p.m.**

"Remind me: why do we bother to compete?"

Phoebe inwardly chuckled at this, knowing full well that her boss and friend was well aware of why Carlisle Institute competed. And if the older woman needed help remembering, then something was clearly wrong.

"Because it's not enough to sing. We need to _perform_." And for their esteemed institution, concerts alone would not fulfill that need. No, they needed to prove themselves to strangers who were dead set on judging every aspect of them. They needed to demonstrate their worth to crowds of people who held no attachments to their school. Concerts were where fans of all ages primly adorned the seats of their auditorium –– that was guaranteed approval year after year. That was nothing like the thrill that came with walking away victorious after waging choral war against a sea of the unknown.

"Right." Papers shifted in the distance, computer keys being heavily whacked. "Not buying that today."

There were only a few reasons why Francesca Barnes would be thoroughly uninterested in her favourite passion. And, somehow Phoebe felt confident enough to wager a guess on today's reason for the issue. She wouldn't be foolish enough to hazard that guess just yet. She knew that waiting for a terse response from her boss would be infinitely preferable to boldly inserting herself into the subject.

As if right on cue, "I mean, what's the point with meeting with all of us individually? We've all done this competition countless times, and I don't remember ever calling up Dickie Merton or Joyce Barnaby to discuss their competition plans when we were the hosts!"

"I take it The Center's being difficult?" Phoebe coolly inquired, as though she hadn't suspected this being the issue all along.

"You know, his signature may be at the bottom of this screen, but Charlie Grigg couldn't give a flying fig about what our competition plans are –– this has Alice Neal written all over it."

"Well, I'm sure Alice will be fairly easy to work with." Phoebe wasn't speaking from experience. Still, by this point, she felt that it would be far easier to work with Ms. Neal than to corral some of Carlisle's finest into this latest scheme of theirs. "And, a meeting with her can't possibly last forever."

"Have you met Alice Neal?" Francesca dryly asked, "I suppose you'll have the harder task soon enough, but I suspect I'll be the one who has more of a headache."

Phoebe chuckled at the thought, "Remind me to never direct a choir."

"Don't you dare! I'm supposed to be retiring in seven years and I'm not leaving a second later!"

The air stilled a bit at the statement, a sense of loss tingeing the conversation. Both women stopped typing for a brief moment, avoiding the other's gaze and fixating on their computer screens.

_Right._

_Let's make this count, then._

"Well, if you're going to twist my arm about it," Phoebe lightly began to tease, needing to tease the matter, "Though, if you expect _me_ to be handling Alice Neal in seven years time, you've got another thing coming!"

_._

**Sunday, the 12th of January, 2019**

**9:14 p.m.**

The pair quietly laid side by side, basking in the calm before the storm. They both knew some sort of storm was the horizon –– from which angle it laid was the question.

Of course, he couldn't remain quiet forever.

"I got an email from Alice Neal," Charles gave a bothered confession, the wretched communication having been bothering him for half the day.

"Oh? And what evil scheme is she up to this time?" Except, Elsie was only half-joking. She knew that whenever Alice Neal chose to involve herself in something, it was liable to be some sort of personal, malicious scheme.

"She wanted to know of our plans to compete, if we intend on competing at the Center this spring or not." He refused to mention the numerous taunts about their "inevitable" stress levels, what with a blessed wedding only six months away.

"And what did you say?"

"That we were in the process of deciding that and would have an answer for her by the 23rd."

Yet, there was something else bothering him, something he wasn't saying: "What else was in that email, Charles?"

Elsie didn't care to prod her husband like he was some sort of farm animal. But, sometimes the glacier pace he moved at proved to be a little too much for her. Though, she knew she was one to talk: she was content to move at the same pace, had been more than happy to do so, especially when it had come to their relationship. Heavens know if it weren't for that night last spring, when the storm had forced them to stay inside Downton, they would probably still be only colleagues and nothing more.

But, that was neither here nor there.

"Alice wants to meet in person to discuss this." The man admitted, not in the mood for such a dramatic venture. He knew that such a request only spelled out vexation.

"Well, if we must, then we'll meet her together." Elsie took hold of his hand, silently reminding him of the many promises they'd made to each other to face the future together.

"Right." Charles had forgotten he wasn't alone in this. That being the choir director no longer meant he was isolated and couldn't ask for help. That he didn't have to face the world by himself. Honestly, it was nice, though he tended to forget it in moments like these. Still, he didn't want to spend tonight talking about _that_ ghastly nightmare when there was another potential nightmare less than twenty-four hours away.

"So, they've all agreed then? The octet's a go?"

Elsie didn't scoff at the fact that this was the fifth time her fiancé was confirming the matter. She knew perfectly well why he was in this stage of tense bemusement, why he felt on edge. She also reasoned this was a decent distraction from contemplating what exactly Alice Neal was planning to do.

"They have."

Charles nodded, churning the matter over in his mind. He was not fully assuaged by such knowledge, but it did give him some comfort. The man also couldn't help but continue to wonder about his fiancée in all of this, unsure of whether or not this is too much for her.

"And they all know who they'll be working with?"

It'd been a point of rumination for him, wondering how well the idea would be taken. Whether Carlisle would be amenable to the idea, if his own students would protest the idea. It was certainly a risk they were taking, both with reputation and commitments. But if his fiancée had faith then he had to trust her. And, naturally, Elsie would've had a chance to gauge the students' reactions when she individually informed them of the opportunity.

Except, "Not exactly."

" _Not exactly"? What did you tell them, Elsie?_ Four of Downton's best combining forces with Carlisle's finest, striving to break the harsh rivalry between the schools in any possible way, and the students were unaware of these finer details? "What do you mean 'not exactly'?"

_._

**Monday, the 13th of January, 2020**

**3:42pm**

Penelope Carlisle regally stared about the auditorium, blue eyes coldly observing the venue.

"Exactly why are we here, Miss Miller?" Her instructor ignored the student's inquisition, knowing that they would all balk at the reason behind their being at Downton. "This may be the most spacious auditorium in Yorkshire, but Carlisle has an equally suitable rehearsal space."

Phoebe internally rolled her eyes at the tone of her student, thinking it too arrogant and prestigious for a teenager. She'd really just prefer to have left the soprano out of this, the teacher not convinced this sort of thing was Penelope's "scene". But, Miss Carlisle's presence had been a special request of Francesca –– or, rather, Richard Carlisle. Therefore, if they had any hope of their fine institution officially approving of this collaboration with Downton, the teenager's involvement was a necessary part of the process

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough, Penelope." Abigail Hankins coolly remarked, having taken to sitting in one of the seats closest to the exit. She did want to be here, having recognized the opportunity long before Phoebe had officially persuaded her to join. She just didn't care for the snob that was her classmate.

"Did I ask for your opinion?"

Connor Pond snorted at this, looking to be amused by the lacking retort. He was normally one for being easy-going in general. However, that was almost never the case when it came to responding to Penelope Carlisle.

"I don't think you ever ask for opinions, Penelope." The one tenor of the group aired his comment, an unusual amount of disdain in his light words. David Eckley, the only bass in the bunch, rolled his eyes indifferently at the building banter. He personally thought Connor was asking for a fight by this point, which was pointless with Penelope.

"I'll have you know," Luckily, Phoebe could hear familiar footsteps approaching the auditorium's entrance, footsteps by the lovely sound of keys jangling against a lanyard. _Finally_.

"You will find out in a moment what we're doing here," The instructor quickly informed them, praying for patience. This was her first time ever doing anything remotely like this; she hardly knew how to go about it the "right" way. "But, before you do, I will remind you all that you have promised to be respectful and courteous to our future colleagues."

They did nod at this, remembering the promise they'd all individually given her –– whether it had been reluctantly uttered or not. Looking at all of their faces, expressions ranging from sullen to intrigued, she could only hope that Elsie was still up to the task after today.

"Ah, Miss Miller," The Scottish choir teacher greeted her with a calm smile upon opening the door, "And these must be your students."

"You're the accompanist for Downton's choirs," Penelope stated with alarm at the sight of Elsie, having recognized her from last year's competitions. "What are you doing here? Miss Miller, _why_ are we here? Don't tell me we're to work with an accompanist? _Why_ would _we_ be working with an _accompanist_ if this is to be an _a cappella_ performance?"

Elsie's smile didn't twitch in frustration at Miss Carlisle's blatant attitude or incessant questions. Nor did she arch an eyebrow at Abigail Hankins' sighing in disbelief at her peer's behaviour. No, she'd dealt with enough divas of all types to know not to take any attitude personally.

"Miss Carlisle, I presume?" At Penelope's wary nod, "Miss Carlisle, I am not only the accompanist for Downton. In fact, Miss Miller and I will be working together this semester with your octet. And you may refer to me as Mrs. Hughes."

" _This_ is our octet?" It looked like Mary Crawley was having a similar reaction to Miss Carlisle, entering the room looking horrified at this ghastly surprise. "But, Downton and Carlisle _never_ work together. Grey, perhaps. Strallan or Midsomer even. But _not_ Carlisle."

"There's always a first." Phoebe spoke evenly, not letting an ounce of irritation slip into her tone. She and Elsie had already discussed these two sopranos personalities before this meeting, but to see their personal theories already confirmed left a sour taste about all of this.

"Well, I don't know about you two ladies but I think this could be fun." It seemed Connor was going back to being his cheerful self. He even got nods of agreement from Matthew Crawley and Phyllis Baxter, the tenor and alto curious to how this would all unfold and determined to make the best of it.

"I suppose only time will tell. Though I'm sure today's rehearsal will be quite _informative_." Penelope haughtily spoke, clearly not believing this to be the case. And if four of the seven other singers glanced upward for the strength, that was on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Ta-da! And now that we've essentially met all of the main characters of this finale, and even gotten a little taste of what's in store, I do believe it's time for the story to properly pick up!


	4. Mezzo Auditions and Pressing Engagements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 02/01/20 Author's Note: I am so sorry –– I totally thought I posted this yesterday! Thank you for your patience.
> 
> **Original Author's Note:** So, we've met most of the main players and we've really gotten at least hints of of the main plots! Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy this next installment!

**Tuesday, the 14th of January, 2020**

**6:47 a.m.**

Andy Parker had been warming up his vocal chords the minute he realized he was awake, much to the amusement of his mother. The teen had been buzzing around the house, practicing all manners of warm-ups that she'd long since stopped questioning.

"What's that part you want to sing, dear? Was it the role of Eponine?" She teased over breakfast, internally chuckling as he began to blush in protest.

"I'm not that desperate for a part, Mum!" And, glancing at his phone to check the time, "And, before you ask, neither's Thomas!"

She snorted into her cereal, prompting him to shoot her another look. Much as he loved his mum, she did like to give him a really hard time.

"And, before you ask, I'll take any _male_ part, thanks!"

"I'm sure, dear."

**_._**

**6:51 a.m.**

Mary Crawley was not the biggest fan of musical theatre. She carried a slim appreciation for the technique behind the more "classic" pieces that had taken to the Broadway stage. Beyond that, she found the modern musical theatre sound to be intensely irritating, sounding unnecessarily nasally and whiny. Needless to say, she was relieved when she discovered they weren't to be performing solely the modern pieces. She should've trusted Mr. Carson to handle this showcase's musical selection as such, but with Mrs. Hughes by his side, anything was possible.

And, speaking of Mrs. Hughes… Mary found herself unable to believe the audacity of the woman! Working with Carlisle, forcing her _and_ Matthew to endure the snobbish tendencies of that school! It was entirely ridiculous, and if it weren't for the fact that she had had a chance to sing right alongside Matthew, she would've incessantly protested the entire matter!

But, then it went from ridiculous to an utter nightmare. Because yesterday's rehearsal officially formed the octet. Worse still, yesterday's rehearsal assigned everyone their respective parts and Mary _wasn't_ singing the lead. Far from it. She was resigned to singing _tenor_ in the women's part of the octet while the precious Penelope Carlisle sang lead.

And where was Matthew in all of this? If there were four young women –– herself, Penelope, Abigail, and Phyllis –– forming one quartet that would join forces with the four young men –– Matthew, Connor, Thomas, and David –– where would Matthew reside?

Oh, that's right: he would be singing lead for the men's quartet. Which meant he would be standing in the center with Penelope while Mary would be unfairly tucked away in the corner of the group.

Like she said before, _utterly unfair_.

And _entirely_ Mrs. Hughes' and Miss Miller's fault.

_._

**7:12 a.m.**

"Are you sure you don't want to audition for anything?"

Oh, Anna loved her boyfriend. But, the truth was, she did not have any interest in vying for a "Seasons of Love" solo. Nor did she find _Les Mis_ to be the most appealing musical ever –– it was a little over-the-top for her taste. She also didn't need to get in Mary's way on this one; the soprano knew her dark-haired friend was struggling with this semester's show and that this was one of the few opportunities she'd have to sing a more "classical" style.

"Quite sure, John." The blonde calmly informed the baritone, pleased they could have this discussion before the school day started. Sorting it out now meant that she'd have to less to think about before rehearsal. "But, please, don't let that stop you from auditioning!"

"But, Anna," She smiled at the concern in his voice, ready to handle anything query he had, "I heard you humming one of the solos in the hallway after class –– Cosette, I think?"

The soprano paused in her tracks, not having realized he'd noticed that. But, after letting go of her surprise, a soft smile appeared. Of course John would've noticed that. He noticed a lot more than people gave him credit for.

"You're right. " Anna glanced in the direction of Downton, but kept them standing in their spot, breathing in the crisp air and the snow around them. Doing so made it easier to remember that he only wanted to support her, that he wanted to make sure she did want she wanted to do. He wasn't trying to set her up for failure, he wasn't like Mrs. Butte.

"All right," She continued to speak, remembering the numerous conversations they'd had about this. They both had their struggles when it came to auditions. And she knew that if their roles were reversed, she'd be acting similarly. "How about we agree to audition for whatever parts we want today?"

"I like that." And, taking one another's hand, preparing to walk toward the school once again, "Do you think you'll try for another proper solo this year?"

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' offer to the Concert Choir –– the promise that, if the students were interested, they could learn and perform a solo at The Center's competition in March –– weighed heavily on the minds of everyone. Many students were graduating from this choir, many trying to take care of whatever was next for them.

"Well," The blonde sheepishly smiled, "It's our last year at Downton, so might as well go for it, right? You were interested in one, too, right?"

"I'm not really sure," But she didn't buy that for a moment. "It did cross my mind once or twice."

"John, it is our last year at Downton," She reminded him, having noticed how he'd subtly lit up when Mrs. Hughes was announcing another chance for solos. "Might as well give it a go if we want to, right?"

This time it was his turn for a sheepish smile while she fixed him with a knowing look.

"So, we'll ask about _Les Mis_ and other solos together then?"

He took a moment, various emotions flitting across his face. But, eventually, he knew what his gut was saying:

"We will."

She smiled, nodding to herself and feeling so pleased that he was actually going to go for it. Though, knowing that they probably needed to change the subject at least a little, "I definitely agree with Matthew and Sybil when they say we don't need to give them more stress with yet another ensemble piece."

By them, she was referring to their esteemed choir teachers. The two individuals that looked to be relatively at ease, all things considered. But, the same two people who the Concert Choir suspected of being a lot more stressed than it seemed. And while there'd been an argument about how important it is to keep trudging along and prove that Downton was capable of performing a showcase and competing at the same time, the counter-argument was that would cost a great deal to everyone involved. That it would be way too stressful to incorporate more auditions, choreography, costume changes, and music –– especially for the teachers who would be putting it all together.

"I agree: while we could go out of our way to put together another ensemble, that means more work for everyone." Anna nodded, knowing very well knew he would agree. She'd heard his opinion before, after all, and in front of dozens of people.

After Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had put the question to the Concert Choir –– "Would you be interested in auditioning and competing in an ensemble at The Center's upcoming competition in late March?" –– there'd been a discreet, student-only meeting at one of the few cafés in Downton. Everyone in the choir had shown up. Then and only then, all opinions about competing this spring had been discussed, with the choir making a final decision only a few hours later.

The students wanted to be sure of themselves before being asked to put the question to a vote. It helped that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes said that there'd be no answer required from them until today, giving everyone time to mull it over. Because now it was just a matter of getting to class, going through with the vote, and seeing what would happen next.

Oh, and auditioning, of course.

_._

**8:51 a.m.**

" _One more day all on my own,"_

Ellie Bell decided that, if nothing else, she'd give herself into the sadness of the role she was auditioning for. That, regardless of who else auditioned, she'd let these next thirty seconds be a chance to let go.

" _One more day with him not caring,"_

Memories flashed through her mind at this, fueling the power necessary to sustain the notes. Old friends who never paid her any real mind, crushes she knew had no clue of her existence, they were all coming back for the next minute.

" _What a life I might've known,"_

Allowing the piano to guide her voice, breathing in with the timing of the piece and imagining all of the other voices that would be crying out in this piece, she focused on staring dead ahead at the clock on the back wall and pouring all of her energy into her final lyric.

" _But he never saw me there."_

_Crescendoing_ through the _mezzo_ note, Ellie let an encompassing, forlorn force build within her sound, only breaking character when Miss Vance finished playing the piano accompaniment. Then, lowering her gaze from the clock to her two teachers who were sat where the students would normally be, she warmly smiled.

"Thank you for your audition, Ellie," Mrs. Hughes kindly spoke. The young soprano nodded, appreciating the light tone. Her eyes then discreetly took stock of the choir director, needing to know what Mr. Carson was thinking:

He seemed to be in shock.

And she didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"Yes, thank you." The choir director eventually said, still looking surprised by her audition. "We'll be sure to let you know if you receive a call-back. Of course, you understand that auditioning does not guarantee a role, yes?"

"Of course, Mr. Carson."

"And, _of course_ ," Mrs. Hughes chimed in, discreetly shooting her fiancé a look, "You've officially agreed that you will accept a call-back for _any_ part, yes?"

Every auditioner had been given a slip of paper to help with the process. Said slip of paper asked for their name as well as their permission to be called back for any part of the songs that auditions were being held for. So, if someone came in wanting to be Cosette but struck the teachers more as a soloist for "Seasons of Love", they'd be called back for that instead of Cosette.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes." Ellie assured the older woman, smiling. The young singer was honestly hoping for anything, having become a fan _Rent_ and _Les Mis_ since she first heard about the showcase _._ She'd never gotten into musical theatre until Rose and Lavinia had raved about it last semester. And while she didn't dare say anything to the students who'd been fans of all the shows for ages, it was true that she'd be delighted for any part in the performance. "And, thank you for holding these auditions, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson."

_._

**09:52 a.m.**

Upon asking the Bass and the Bel Canto choir to vote about putting together a competitive ensemble, Elsie Hughes had been surprised when both choirs came back with a resounding rejection of the idea. Asking each student to close their eyes and raise their hand as a way of voting only resulted in majority rulings _against_ competing as an ensemble.

It had been bewildering, to say the least. Still, she and Charles had to respect the main reasoning behind the decisions: the students felt that a competition would be too stressful on top of all the new things they have to learn for musical theatre. It still felt like a loss to her, but she'd rather lose a few medals than push everyone past their breaking point. Nevertheless, as bewildering as all of that had been, it held nothing on what she was currently witnessing.

Bewilderment was a quaint way of describing how she felt right now –– a _pianissimo_ for what felt like _fortissimo_.

"I'll ask again," Charles broke the silence, just as astounded as his fiancée. They may have been conducting this inquiry, but every choir was choosing an entirely different direction to follow. "Please raise your hand if you would like to compete as an ensemble in this year's Yorkshire ensemble and soloist competition."

Not a single hand twitched.

All forty-seven singers kept their hands clasped together and in their laps.

In other words, no one was interested in changing their minds about this.

After exchanging looks once more –– Bass and Bel Canto saying no to competing was bizarre, the _Concert Choir_ saying no was discombobulating –– the choir teachers gave their students half a minute to change their votes. They knew this would be it for many of them, this would be their last ensemble for quite some time if not forever. And as stressful as putting another ensemble would be, it'd be a privilege to give their students this.

"Right," The choir director didn't understand what was going on with everyone today, but he could adapt to this. Or, at the very least, he could try his best to. Charles would probably never quite understand, but he'd certainly try. "You all may open your eyes."

Elsie, on the other hand, wasn't ready to let go of the subject just yet.

"I suppose not a single one of you wants to perform in an additional ensemble this semester?" Feeling dumbfounded was only the tip of the iceberg. Granted, her traitorous heart did feel lighter at the thought of less work. However, much like her fiancé, she knew that this would be one of last guaranteed chances for some of their graduating students to compete. And though those students may not realize what that really means, that lack of opportunity, she and Charles knew it all too well.

"That's right, Mrs. Hughes," Mary Crawley, quite possibly the self-appointed spokesperson for the group, regally informed her. Every other student nodded in agreement, even the ones who weren't the biggest fans of Mary. All looked to be fully committed to this, giving Elsie the vibe that this decision had been made long before today.

"And, are we to also take it that no one is interested in performing a solo at The Center's competition?" Charles curiously inquired, shell-shocked himself at the continued response.

"I wouldn't say that, Mr. Carson." The eldest Crawley daughter good-naturedly continued to chime in. "I'm equally sure everyone is interested in continuing to audition for solos today."

Well, _that_ was something.

_._

**10:05 a.m.**

" _In truth that she learned_

_Or in times that he cried!"_

Phyllis had been waiting outside of 403 on the premise of auditioning for "Seasons of Love". But, the truth was that she didn't care at all if she got a spot in the _Rent_ song. All she cared about was supporting her friends and listening to her boyfriend as he got _really_ into his audition –– furtively opening the door a bit so as to hear everything. Joseph was past the point of flinging himself in the words, his apparent passion for _Rent_ making itself known.

" _In bridges he burned_

_Or the way that she died!"_

"Thank you, Jo–– thank–– thank you, Mr. Moseley!" Mr. Carson firmly said, holding up a hand before the baritone got too carried away. "We will be sure to let you as well as everyone else know about call-backs by Thursday at the latest."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson!" He stammered gratefully, losing all focus at the sound of a potential call-back. Phyllis couldn't withhold a smile at this, finding the whole thing endearing. "And, please, remember that I did say I'll take a call-back for any part!"

"We're quite aware, Joseph, we do have your slip." Mrs. Hughes managed to put a stop to anything Mr. Carson had to say, maintaining a professional tone that belied the twinkling amusement in her eyes. "And we'd like to personally thank you for auditioning –– we _both_ understand how difficult auditioning can be."

Mr. Carson looked to be sending her a look, giving off the impression that he didn't fully agree with the sentiment. However, Phyllis was pleased to note that after he received another look from Mrs. Hughes, the choir director eventually concurred with a hesitant, "Indeed."

_._

**10:17 a.m.**

"Do you think Mary's asked that Cindy Paisley for help?" Edith curiously put to Matthew, knowing that the American her sisters had met over the summer was rather talented with musical theatre. And, watching her older sister retreat into 403 to audition for a shot at _Les Mis_ , Edith knew this was as good a time as any to ask.

"I very much doubt it." The tenor honestly responded, feeling comfortable enough to be candid with the middle Crawley sister. And seeing as how he'd done his audition for _Les Mis ––_ all the young men being asked to audition first before the young women –– he could fully focus on the conversation. "Your sister never seemed interested in asking Cindy for help before."

"Oh, I doubt that's true" Sybil lightly chided in defense of her sister, but Matthew only looked at her in bemusement. Mary hadn't been cordial to Cindy over the summer. And even though the American had given her contact information, that lack of cordiality was unlikely to change.

Frankly, he didn't quite understand the eldest Crawley sister these days. He thought he had, thought he more of an inkling, but it never really looked to be the case. They talked less ever since they'd realized they had different lunch periods. Soon it became clear something had changed last fall. And although this semester made it feel like things were getting back to normal, everything involving Mary Crawley went back to being confusing once this octet with Carlisle Institute was formed.

"Can you believe we're still auditioning people?" Rose could always be counted on to distract everyone from an awkward conversation. "I don't think it'll ever end!"

Edith turned to the younger girl, curious: "Weren't you interested in auditioning for _Les Mis_ , Rose?"

The third-year soprano firmly shook her head, "Not if there's a chance of being the soloist for '42nd Street'!"

_._

**Wednesday, the 15th of January, 2020**

**4:14 p.m.**

Connor Pond, one of the "lucky" volunteers for the Downton-Carlisle octet, rather enjoyed singing. He even liked his school. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't find the crowd of Carlisle Institute to be terribly cut-throat. Ruthless and indifferent at times, naturally. Occasionally pedantic and snobbish, of course. Those attitudes were always possible when there was an obvious limelight. But, all of this negativity to the point of exhaustion? Not quite.

Nevertheless, "Penelope, I think we need to take a break."

Because this "mini-rehearsal" was more intense than the Carlisle Chambers Choir sessions _and_ this group was barely twenty minutes in.

"That's nice," Penelope Carlisle was not in the mood for such an attitude, "We can 'take a break' when I've deemed us worthy of taking a break. Which won't be happening anytime soon. Because we're nowhere near the perfection we'll need to be for next week's rehearsal."

The tenor refused to scowl at this because it wasn't worth it. But each time Penelope persisted in those sorts of remarks, his patience grew thinner and thinner. She may be the daughter of the man in charge of their school, but that did not mean she got to call every shot. And if she didn't adjust her attitude, he had no qualms about walking away because, unlike her, he didn't need to prove himself a worthy singer.

Oh, yes, he knew all about the expectations the name of Carlisle brought with it.

"How about pausing for five minutes? Just to rest our voices for a bit and take a water break." David Eckley quietly asked, stopping from Connor from spewing out some choice words about the situation.

"David's right," Abigail brought Penelope's attention away from David, "We've already sung for over two hours today. We need to stop or we won't get anywhere."

Beady blue eyes glanced between her three classmates, briefly thinking the matter over. While Penelope didn't care for Connor's attitude, David probably had the right idea. And Abigail, loathe as the soprano was to admit it, also had something of a point.

"Fine. Water break for five minutes and then we get right back into it."

Because if she was going to maintain her role as a lead, she was going to do everything she possibly could.

_._

**Thursday, the 16th of January, 2020**

**11:41 a.m.**

At one point, Linda couldn't handle it. Playing the same 32-measures on the piano, the occasional off-key singing, the diva attitudes, the endless auditions throughout the school-day, it'd all been all right for the first day. It'd been tolerable the second. Now, they were trudging through the fourth day and she was beginning to lose her drive to be the best teaching assistant she could be.

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, how do you handle all of these auditions?"

The pair shared a fond look at this, recalling a memory or two.

"You'd be surprised to know, Linda," The Scottish lilt knowingly struck a curious chord as the older woman eyed the door, "That we usually don't handle these auditions by ourselves."

As though this were all a staged production, the band director of Downton came barging through the door of 403 right after that –– carrying a plateful of sandwiches and immediately drawing Linda's attention. This little scene cracked a slight smile within Mr. Carson whilst Mrs. Hughes opted for chuckling.

"Right," The redhead bluntly began to speak, arching an eyebrow, "What'd I miss?"

"Mrs. Patmore?" The teaching assistant was confused, unsure of why the older woman had come unannounced with sandwiches of all things. "I didn't know we were expecting you?"

"I may be a few days late, but the sandwiches are here, all right? Now, quick your snickering, Elsie," This only prompted more laughter, "And start eating what's probably both your first meal of the day!"

"Okay. I'm absolutely lost," Linda easily confessed, feeling as though there were some sort of inside-joke she was missing. This only coaxed laughter from all three of the teachers, even as the band director began to force feed the other two.

"We'll tell you later. Now, eat!"

_._

**3:17 p.m.**

"Oh, I am sorry, Jimmy," Elsie Hughes was unashamedly _not_ apologetic about this. Not in the slightest. "But, you've already auditioned for both _Les Mis_ and _Rent_. To let you re-audition when we're not giving that option to other students would go against the rules."

"But, Mrs. Hughes," The tenor continued to protest, obviously not listening to his teacher, "If you just give me another chance! Or at least tell me if I have a callback?"

"I'm afraid that Mr. Carson and I have an appointment off-campus, and must leave _now_." Right on time, the choir director stepped out of 402, preparing to lock the classroom up.

"But, Mrs. Hughes––" Fortunately, her fiancé didn't need any context to know what was going on.

"James, you are well aware that callbacks will be announced tomorrow. And, as Mrs. Hughes has undoubtedly already informed you, we have a pressing engagement that requires an immediate departure. Now, if you will excuse us,"

"But––" However, the pair were too determined to let Jimmy get in their way. Unbeknownst to the tenor, they'd been planning this "pressing engagement" for some time, being in no mood to be held back by something that could and should be addressed tomorrow.

Having been inundated with wedding decisions, musical theatre selections, the occasional family visit –– something that, thankfully, became easier to handle after October –– as well as an endless parade of emails and administrative tasks, it became inordinately obvious that any time the pair had would be snatched up by their responsibilities. Something that only grew worse with the start of this new semester.

Hence, today's plan: tell everyone that they had a pressing engagement after-school, hop on a train to get out of Downton and enjoy some alone time nowhere near any show-tunes, overly-enthusiastic relatives, desperate auditioners, and well-meaning friends who were all slowly driving them up a wall.

Then and only then would they eventually return to finalize the wedding decorations and those blessed callbacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Second Author's Note:** Look at those two, managing to live a little _and_ still complete their responsibilities! Aren't we proud?
> 
> **Soloist-related question:** What do we think about giving the veteran soloists (the ones who performed a solo in ISNSIV) a song that's meant to challenge them this time around? For instance, I could give Mary a song that would naturally line-up with her character and let that play out. I can also give her a song that would be difficult for her to perform and let that play out. No pressure, either way :)


	5. Hopeful Treks and Spring Schemes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** I confess, this next chapter is a bit shorter than I'd like! But, if it's any consolation, the length will be picking up again, I just had no interest in overwhelming you all [let's just say it would've been quite the lengthy chapter].
> 
> And, finally **special thanks to a FFN guest reviewer** who coined a phrase I adore and will be using in this chapter to describe the administration –– thank you once again for that!

**Friday, the 17th of January, 2020**

**7:12 a.m.**

If anyone asked her later, Claire Morris never ran up the steps to the second fourth floor. She calmly trekked up the stairs –– think _andante_ , not _vivace_ –– and she definitely didn't almost smack into the banister twice.

Now, she could honestly say that she needed a moment before she entered the second fourth floor. Not only might Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson be there this early in the morning, and that'd be _absolutely embarrassing_ , there was always the chance of running into a fellow classmate. Because, yes, she didn't doubt that at least one other person would be sneaking up to see the callback list long before everyone else.

Taking a few breaths, struggling to be entirely at-ease with the situation, the next few moments were a blur as she proceeded to officially enter the second fourth floor. Her tentative steps echoed all around but no one in sight –– something that made it easier to do all of this.

Repeatedly drawing out deep breaths, feeling her heartbeat furiously quicken the closer she got, Claire averted her gaze at the sight of a piece of paper pinned near 402's main entrance. She could see the phrase "Callbacks" printed in beautifully bold letters, the sight causing her to close her eyes for a few seconds. Out of a hundred-and-something students, she wasn't really likely to get a callback for anything.

But, she still hoped for something. Still wanted the chance.

Opening her eyes hesitantly, Claire's vision began to gradually work its way from staring at the ground to looking at the official list. And, since she was determined to look from the bottom-up, instead of the typical fashion, she saw the _Rent_ set-up first...

"Seasons of Love" **C** **allbacks:**

**First Female Solo** **:** Alyssa Cummings, Daisy Robinson, Isabel Johnson, Ivy Stuart

**Male Solo:** James Kent, Tony Gillingham, Robert Thompson

**Second Female Solo** **:** Alyssa Cummings, Daisy Robinson, Isabel Johnson Ivy Stuart

Smiling at the sight of Alyssa's and Isabel's name up there right along Daisy's and Ivy's –– two girls she knew were in the Concert Choir –– the young soprano felt a renewed twinge of hope. It was that same twinge that had pushed her to audition in the first place. That twinge had told her she really did have a chance, that it wasn't all guaranteed to go to the advanced students.

And, cautiously bringing her gaze up to the auditions she really cared about, she held her breath and forced herself to look it all over...

"One Day More" **Callb** **acks:**

**Valjean:** Benjamin Adams, John Bates, John Drake

**Marius:** Aaron Aviery, Evelyn Napier, Matthew Crawley

**Cosette:** Anna Smith, Edith Crawley, Ellie Bell, Lavinia Swire, Maribel Diaz

**Eponine:** Claire Morris, Mary Crawley, Ruby Quincy

**Enjolras:** Andrew Parker, Charles Blake, Tom Branson

**Javert:** Leo Sommer, John Bates, Howard Johnson

**Thenardier:** Neal Mitchell, Kemal Pamuk, Thomas Barrow

**Mme. Thenardier:** Ethel Parks, Gladys Denker, Hannah Roberts

_No way––_ Quickly re-reading the list, her jaw continuing to drop the more it registered that she had a callback, Claire let out of a sound that crossed between an incredulous squeal, a nervous squeak, and a chortle. She then furiously blushed, instinctively speeding off back to one of the stairwells in case Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were nearby and wanted to investigate the noise.

Only once she was two floors away from the choir rooms, did she pause to regain her bearings and send out a well-deserved text message.

_**Congratulations on the Rent callback, Isabel! –– CM** _

She was still reeling from the shock of it all, but that didn't mean she couldn't congratulate her friend on getting a callback as well. And if that text eventually resulted in her mentioning that she, too, got a callback, well that would be kind of cool in her opinion.

**_._**

**8:53 a.m.**

"This is ridiculous! _Entirely_ ridiculous!"

Alyssa Cummings snickered at the sound of Camellia Botterill, the one real _prima donna_ that Bel Canto had this year, as she continued to complain to her entourage of one. The bully hadn't gotten a single callback, something that Alyssa thought served her right.

Add to that, Maribel hadn't shaken off the wonder that they'd both gotten callbacks and it all meant that Alyssa was in a great mood. Her best mate and her had a chance of getting a solo, Camellia got a taste of her own medicine, and everything was going her way today. And with a minute or two before class officially started, they could continue to revel in the opportunity.

"Well, you better believe it because they've got it in writing!"

"Like I said," Camellia chimed in, disgruntled and content to stir up trouble, " _Entirely_ ridiculous!"

"That's enough of that attitude, Camellia," Leave it to Mrs. Hughes to put a stop to Camellia's attitude. "And, may I just say that, whether any of you ladies received a callback today or not, that should not stop you all from continuing to audition."

_Exactly._ Even if she didn't get anything today, Alyssa now knew that it was possible to get called back. Which meant that it was equally possible to get an actual role.

"Now, since there are less auditioning for 'Seasons of Love', we will start auditions today there before transitioning to 'One Day More'. Just like before, anyone not auditioning will be warming up with Mrs. Bird while Mr. Carson, Miss Vance, and I listen to the auditioners in 403."

The soprano nodded to herself, having forgotten all about Mrs. Bird helping them out on this. Seeing as how "Seasons of Love" and "One Day More" were two of the three songs that would involve every choir, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes explained that the solos for these pieces were important enough to involve outside help. And, since Mrs. Bird didn't teach a second period class, she volunteered to help "corral the chorale" while they worked through the auditions for these pieces.

"Alyssa? You coming?" Isabel, the only other Bel Canto auditioner for "Seasons of Love", concernedly asked the young woman from the doorway. It seemed like the soprano had forgotten to keep moving the more she thought about everything.

"Of course!" Ignoring Camellia's snickers –– at least Alyssa had a chance for a solo, unlike the blonde soprano –– the young woman carried herself proudly out of the door, sending an encouraging smile in Maribel's direction for when it was time for the dark-haired girl to audition.

Whatever else happened, they gave it a shot.

And that really was all that mattered.

**_._**

**9:02 a.m.**

Beryl Patmore could consider herself many things as a band director: great at effectively communicating to both faculty and students, stubborn enough to push her students to be the best instrumentalists they could be, and as patient as she needed to be to do all of that. After all, refining someone's technique, coaxing them to rise past what they think themselves possible of, it required all of those qualities.

And, even though she knew all of this, today was one of those days in which none of it mattered.

"Mrs. Patmore! I think _someone_ is playing the C-sharp in measure 43 a little too sharp!"

_Why, Elsie? Why did you have to give Daisy_ _ **and**_ _Ivy a call-back for the_ _**same parts**_ _?_

"Well, Mrs. Patmore, I think that _someone's_ making B natural on measure 44 is a little too flat!"

_Maybe_ _ **he's**_ _to blame for this. Maybe it's Mr. Curmudgeon who's to blame for the fact that none of my wind section is able to concentrate!_

"Mrs. Patmore..." Whoever was to blame, they'd be getting quite the tongue lashing, that's for sure. That's if she made it out of this rehearsal alive!

**_._**

**9:47 a.m.**

"Won't you be joining the others for their audition, Ethel?" The young woman in question pointedly looked away from Melinda, a fellow alto, and discreetly shot a look of disdain in the direction of 403 –– the room where callbacks were being currently held.

"Oh, I don't think so." Madame Thenardier, after all, was _not_ a role befitting a young lady of her considerable talent. "I told Mrs. Hughes as such already."

Ethel did no such thing, not caring if the choir teacher was offended or not. If she and Mr. Carson were content to waste their time on people like Ellie Bell and Lavinia Swire for the real roles, then Ethel wasn't interested.

"Oh." Melinda grew quiet at this, rightfully so in Ethel's opinion. Clearly, the singer understood the entire situation and would be leaving her well-alone.

Yes, well, she really didn't care at all about auditions. Not in the slightest. She didn't bat an eyelash at Thomas being all over Andy for getting called back for Enjolras or Andy for doing the same with Thomas and Thenardier. She didn't sneer at Anna and John pretending to be surprised by their callbacks, looking _so_ astonished as they were shepherded out of 402 for their next audition. She also didn't roll her eyes at Gladys bragging about auditioning specifically for Mme. Thenardier to Septimus.

Nevertheless, there was something funny about observing the people getting callbacks. One auditioning singer in particular was interesting to watch.

Ethel was amused by the fact that Mary Crawley was decidedly not okay with the fact that people like Ruby Quincy and Claire Morris were her only competitors. The eldest Crawley sister desperately hid it, speaking to her sisters and Matthew as though she'd already had the role of Eponine in the bag. But Ethel _knew_ that the dark-haired girl was confused as to why such "amateur talent" were only her competition.

Something that would continue to amuse the alto to no end...

_._

**2:02 p.m.**

_**However it went, I'm crossing my fingers for you, Thomas! –– DB** _

Thomas tried not to blush at the text, unable to help himself as his eyes spotted the words of encouragement tucked away in his backpack. Chemistry was not the place to be texting anyone, much as he wanted to respond to his boyfriend.

That didn't stop his phone from quietly buzzing once more a minute later, signaling another text.

_**I'm sure that it went, as you'd say, "brilliantly"! ;) –– DB** _

This time he couldn't stop the blush, forcing himself to look at the lab materials before him as a way to distract himself. Yet his mind couldn't stop thinking of the audition. Personally, he thought his Thenardier was a little lacking. That he hadn't acted with the same level of corruption, the same level of cynicism, the character required.

That lack of cynicism might've frightened him a year ago. The baritone knew that, long before Danny and Andy came into his life, Thenardier would've been a cakewalk to pull off. Knowing that things were different, that it was harder to be act as cold or indifferently as he once did…

It was nice.

_._

**3:16 p.m.**

For once, Charles Carson was eternally grateful for the bell that signaled the end of the school day. Already three students had approached them in a request for a "proper" solo in preparation of The Center's competition this March.

And while the choir director had nothing against Ivy, Alfred, and Rose, he didn't care for how overwhelming this was becoming. How tired he already felt when they were less than a month in, how frazzled he was beginning to feel as a director with all these different tasks before him. Helping Elsie with the wedding, working with Mrs. Bird and Beryl to orchestrate a smooth instrumental set-up for the showcase, fielding the necessary administrative tasks, _and_ going through all the auditions.

The auditions, at least, would ease up. He and Elsie had planned to listen together for the three songs involving every choir –– Miss Vance would be playing the accompaniment, so they could focus not only the sound but the mannerisms of the auditioning student. After those auditions were completed, Miss Vance would work with either him _or_ Elsie when it came to the next rounds. So, any Bass and Concert Choir auditions would involve only him and Miss Vance whereas the Bel Canto and Treble Choir auditions would involve only Elsie and Miss Vance.

This way, they wouldn't have to rely on Mrs. Bird anymore than they wanted to. And then Miss Vance would be able to obtain more experience in all aspects of teaching. Not just warming-up the students and perfecting the songs, but also auditioning.

So, yes, it would all become easier to sort out and manage at least somewhat. Once auditions were over, then it would be a matter of refining all of the music –– something that they were all quite practiced at by now.

The problem was, knowing how the spring semester typically went, everything could only be managed to a certain extent. Stress would inevitably take over. And, with a wedding around the corner, everything was quite likely to get worse.

Unbeknownst to the choir director, he would never be able to guess how right he truly was….

_._

**3:47 p.m.**

There was a reason Charlie Grigg's name was second in the line-up of "Neal & Grigg". He had always known that this was all the Alice Neal show, that she called the shots –– especially when it came to singing.

What he wanted to know now was why she was grinning at the sight of her emails. Nobody cared for emails and nobody _grinned_ at the sight of them. Of course, with Alice, there was only one rule to finding out what was up: giving over his entire attention to her.

And, after a bit of time looking curiously over in her direction, his plan began to pay off.

"You remember how there were rumours about Downton deciding to abandon their normal spring schemes and focus on a _musical theatre_ showcase?" Grigg hadn't heard anything of the sort, but he knew that she was obsessed with the school. Or, really, she was more obsessed with the choir teachers than anything else.

"Right," He began to speak, but she was past the point of interruption.

"Well, I'll be meeting with Charlie on the 22nd –– he lied when he said he'd need until the 23rd to decide anything about competing," Judging from the distaste emanating from her words, it sounded like Elsie Hughes would also be tagging along to that meeting. But, he didn't need to press Alice's buttons about Elsie or Charlie, not if he wanted answers for everything else. "And, it just so happens that Francesca will be able to do the 24th."

_Which means?_

As though he'd asked aloud instead of thinking to himself, "Which means that if I'm correct about this little collaboration between Carlisle and Downton, which I am, I'll be able to say something to Dickie, Anthony, and Joyce when I meet with them all on the 23rd." She smugly smirked, keys typing away in response to another email as her thoughts continued to race down a deviant path.

Grigg raised an eyebrow at this, having a feeling he wouldn't like where this was going. Talking to the other schools was not something Alice cared about. "Proving" how great she was, now that was something she did care about. It didn't help that she'd be meeting with Grey, Strallan, and Midsommer all at once while Downton and Carlisle would be meeting with her one-on-one.

"Oh, and I would like your help on this, Charlie," The woman continued to speak, "After all, wouldn't you like a return to your younger years? The ones where you actually succeeded at something?"

Charlie fought back a scowl at her words, not caring for the simpering quality she carried about her when she spoke about this. Talking about the past sounded cheap coming from her, tainting those old memories a little. Of course, he'd ruined it all for himself back then, but that was different.

Or, so he told himself.

_._

**4:14 p.m.**

_I don't envy either of you._

It was a tough thing, being in charge of auditions. Having to set aside all the egos involved and focus on the craft itself. Knowing that some students were going to be disheartened, that not everyone would be happy where they would end up. Linda had comforted herself through these auditions by remembering there was a purpose behind all of this, that the show would be brilliant if they only got through another day's worth of auditions.

But, now? Having to listen to everyone again, to fine-tune the list even further when the stakes have been raised. Every student they listened to today had taken one step closer to being center stage, showing how they could be in the limelight.

Honestly, through this entire process, it was quite easy to remember how painful her own auditions had been over the years, how each of her failed attempts to land a role stung Linda a great deal in the beginning. It did all work out in the end. Her skin was a lot thicker than it had once been, her singing technique had improved, and she'd experienced an increase in success once she decided not to take the rejections personally.

But, it'd taken some doing. Some doing and quite a few well-deserved breaks in between it all. And, judging from the looks on Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' face, it looked like they needed one of those breaks.

"So, how did you decide which music to select?"

The choir director looked appalled about being distracted from figuring out the perfect Eponine; his colleague and fiancée, on the other hand, looked incredibly relieved. It seemed that the debate was currently in a stale-mate and had been for fifteen minutes, something that was a bit of an anomaly for these two teachers.

"Well," Mrs. Hughes' Scottish lilt, though worn out from the day's events, began to pick up in pace as she explained, "A few songs were suggestions from other people."

"Like?" Linda could've phrased this better, but they were all tired. And manners weren't quite necessary after the long week they've had.

"Well," The teacher repeated, a little dazed by the curiosity. It seemed these callback decisions had taken more of a toll than anticipated. "Cora–– Mrs. Crawley, that is, had suggested 'Summer Nights'. Something about a nostalgia for years gone, I think."

"If I remember that conversation correctly," Mr. Carson smoothly interjected, "We were offered a choice between 'Memory' from _Cats_ and 'Summer Nights'. Given the choice…"

_You'd rather not have the choice at all?_ But, Linda wasn't comfortable enough with Mr. Carson to risk making such a comment. Especially not when it involved a member of the Crawley Admin Triumvirate.

"I see. What about 'Seasons of Love'?" Linda had initially suspected that Mrs. Hughes might've been the one to suggest it. Now, however, she had this feeling that it'd been another one of those well-meaning suggestions.

"Oh, _Rent_ was suggested by Mrs. Craw–– Isobel Crawley." An interesting choice that told her a little about the woman in question. " _Rent_ is a personal favourite of Mrs. Crawley, and so we agreed to incorporate 'Seasons of Love'."

_Two down, one to go?_ But she didn't dare ask if Violet Crawley had suggested anything. Somehow, the older woman didn't strike the teaching assistant as the musical theatre type.

"And, yes, the third Mrs. Crawley –– Violet Crawley –– did make a suggestion for the showcase." Mr. Carson knowingly spoke. When Linda continued to curiously look at him, intrigue outweighing manners, he sighed a little and began to explain.

"After we properly consulted her on the matter," Something in that statement seemed to cause regret within both teachers, though that regret was pushed aside within seconds, "She was able to solve one of our issues _and_ request a song for the showcase."

Still looking at him inquisitively, not getting any real answers from these cryptic remarks of his, Linda quietly continued to wait for further elaboration. And once he realized she'd continue doing so for as long as it would take, the choir director resigned himself to giving more of a straight answer.

"You may have noticed that not all of the music has come in for the Bass Choir. That's because we'd been struggling to figure out the final piece for them. However, upon Mrs. Crawley's suggestion, we stumbled onto a fantastic arrangement of 'You'll Never Walk Alone' from _Carousel_."

"Indeed." Mrs. Hughes chimed in, "I was surprised that she suggested _that_. But the arrangement really is enchanting and she confessed to enjoying the message –– mind, we were told not to mention that to anyone."

Linda nodded, easily agreeing to never bring up that fact to anyone else other than her cat. It did explain something interesting about the elderly woman. But, she held back from any comments, sensing that it'd be wiser to keep quietly listening.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken," The choir director continued, smiling in the direction of his fiancée, "'Anything You Can Do' is courtesy of one Beryl Patmore. Mr. Mason naturally suggested 'Hushabye Mountain',"

"Naturally." Linda echoed good-naturedly, having no clue as to why that was natural. By this point in the conversation, it was obvious she'd opened a can of worms.

"Your–– Mrs. Hughes's mother, I believe, suggested 'Holding Out For a Hero'." Yeah, she definitely opened a can of worms if they were bringing future in-laws into this.

"She did indeed, Mr. Carson, though heaven knows why. But that reminds me: I suppose we do know why Sybil Crawley requested 'Once'," Mrs. Hughes remarked, a knowing gleam in her eyes as she smiled fondly.

"Mrs. Hughes, I'd like to feign ignorance on that front, if at all possible." Luckily, it sounded like the man was being facetious more than anything. Why else would the Scot chuckle at the statement, tension continuing to ease out of the pair of them the further this conversation went on.

"And what about the other songs? Any personal favourites?"

"You must remember, Miss Vance, that musical theatre is not my specialty. However, if I were to choose, I'd consider 'I Could Have Danced All Night', 'Hushabye Mountain', and, of course, 'This is the Moment' is my favourite of the lot."

"'Of course' you'd say 'This is the Moment' is a personal favourite, Mr. Carson?" There was more than a trace of cheekiness in Mrs. Hughes' smile, one that grew as her fiancé began to blush. "I _am_ speechless."

Right. There was definitely a story there. One she hoped to learn more about as time went on, that was for sure. But, for now, she'd settle for possibly winning brownie points by saving Mr. Carson from any further embarrassment via changing the subject:

"And what about you, Mrs. Hughes? Any favourites?"

"Well, 'Blue Skies' is a classic jazz piece and to have it in an _a cappella_ form is wonderful. My quartet might also have something special, but that would depend on finding a tenor." Mrs. Hughes paused for a moment, biting her lip as she thought the whole set-list over, "Although I'd not heard of 'When I Grow Up' until recently, I rather like it. '42nd Street' is also a treat, as is 'As We Stumble Along'. And, of course," This time, she was intentionally parroting his words, grinning as she did so, "'This is the Moment' is my personal favourite of the lot. What about you, Linda?"

But the assistant was caught up in one bit of information from Mrs. Hughes' explanation –– a detail that distracted her from the older woman's question.

"Did you say 'quartet'?"

Both teachers paused in their musings at the sudden shift in subject. Intrigue grew within seconds, wrapping itself around the conversation as they shared a look before refocusing on their assistant.

"I did. A barbershop quartet, though we're missing a tenor." Mrs. Hughes tilted her head a bit at this, eyeing Linda in a new light. "Why the interest?"

Blushing at the sudden attention, "Oh, I dabbled in _a cappella_ when I was younger, but never a quartet. I was always interested, but it never seemed to work out the way I wanted it to." The confession began to unravel itself, unwittingly pulling the two teachers into the tale, "At first, it was about competing with school chums. But that fell flat on its face in seconds."

"Go on," Appreciating the encouragement, not wanting to dwell on those draining moments, Linda carried on with her explanation.

"Then it was about just singing in a quartet. But, that also didn't work out. So, I figured it was a sign that I needed to focus on other things in life, like the jazz band and the likes." Linda had been busying herself by staring at the floor throughout this whole little spiel, scared to have these two stupidly talented people confirm that she really ought to refrain from such things. That her place was in other areas, not things like quartets.

"Well, then." _Here we go._ "Now I think I'll _have_ to offer you the chance," Her eyes darted up to meet the Scot's gaze as the older woman continued: "How would you feel about singing tenor in the quartet?"

Hardly believing the opportunity before her, "Shouldn't I audition first?"

This brought chuckles from both teachers and a resounding, "Consider the first rehearsal to be your audition. How does this Tuesday sound?"

"Tuesday sounds great."

"And, speaking of auditions," Mr. Carson brought the conversation back to familiar ground, adamant about his opinion, "I'm not fully convinced that Ruby is the best choice for Eponine."

"Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes seemed to be tensing up again, "Mary Crawley wasn't Eponine. She was Mary Crawley playing the role of Eponine. And, before you ask, Claire Morris gave it a good go, but she couldn't fully let go. Ruby Quincy, however, took on the part. Her training may not be as proficient as Mary, her sound not as mature, but she conveyed much more emotion and convinced me far more than Mary or Claire did..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** If anyone's concerned, I think we're 1-2 chapters away from finding out what exactly Alice wants. But, whatever she wants, I think it's safe to say it's nothing like anything Mrs. Butte would've orchestrated.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed that and have a lovely day!


	6. Crazy Quilts and Old Closets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** It gives me great pleasure to present yet another chapter! Hope you enjoy!

**Monday, the 20th of January, 2020**

**7:17 a.m.**

_Let's do this._

His feet refused to move.

_C'mon, we've got a real shot at this._

Nothing. His body was frozen where it stood.

_Well, can we at least get a move on before someone sees me?_

Sparing a glance at his preferred entrance into the second fourth floor, the tenor forced himself to push the entrance door open and begin to round the corner that would take him to where the final decisions for last week's auditions would be posted.

Truth be told, Andy Parker didn't really care about "Seasons of Love". At least, he didn't care about having to know who was in it. Thomas hadn't been interested in auditioning for it, and he personally didn't think it was quite his style.

Still, it'd be good to know who was doing what.

Looking at it also helped as a warm-up for looking at the "One Day More" final cast, so that was something.

"Seasons of Love" **Final Cast**

**First Female Solo** [Measures 33-40] **:** Isabel Johnson

**Male Solo:** Robert Thompson

**Second Female Solo** [Measures 40-44] **:** Alyssa Cummings

_This is gonna be interesting._ He briefly remembered that Daisy and Ivy were going at each other's throats for "Seasons of Love", much to Alfred's bewilderment. Normally, Jimmy might've been confused too, except the bloke was definitely freaking out much the same as them.

_Right._

_Let's just take a look real quick –– what do you have to lose?_

Andy knew that if Thomas or Mrs. Hughes were here they'd definitely be encouraging him to "just go for it" and look at the paper. Well, he would. Eventually. It would happen. He'd force himself to stare down the stupid Final Cast list for _Les Mis_ and––

_You're joking!_ Andy's eyes desperately began to reread the names listed, shocked at the final decisions.

"One Day More" **Final Cast**

**Valjean:** John Bates

**Marius:** Aaron Aviery

**Cosette:** Ellie Bell

**Eponine:** Ruby Quincy

**Enjolras:** Andrew Parker

**Javert:** Leo Sommer

**Thenardier:** Neal Mitchell

**Mme. Thenardier:** Hannah Roberts

He'd actually gotten in! He was going to be Enjolras, the role he'd been hoping for ever since he looked at the music. But, even if it'd been Thenardier or Marius, it didn't matter: he was actually going to have a solo!

According to the paper, there'd be a few rehearsals after-school with all the soloists. Other than making sure he could make it to those rehearsals, he was guaranteed a chance to really perform! Not just stand in the shadows or listen to the Mrs. Buttes of the world tell him he should give up singing altogether –– quite the reverse, for the first time in his life, actually.

And, from the looks of it, he'd get a chance to meet some other singers. He knew Bates, of course, but that was the only other Concert Choir person to be in this. Which, honestly, was kind of cool. Everyone was really talented in the Concert Choir, they had to be if they wanted to get in. But, seeing new faces, getting a chance to leave some of the divas back in class, that was cool. And the fact that these people beat out some of those divas, that these names he'd never before had taken Jimmy's place or Mary's, that was frankly _brilliant._

But then, an unpleasant thought came to mind –– the realization that _Thomas didn't get Thenardier!_ Within seconds, he found himself backing away from the paper in discomfort. While it was true the baritone had mentioned not needing to get the role of Thenardier, Andy couldn't tell if his mate was being for real or not.

Right. He'd be leaving this all well alone. No need to mention anything until class. At least by then Thomas will have seen the results for himself and then Andy could get a better idea about what the baritone was thinking.

In any case, the tenor needed to make his escape. He really didn't want to be anywhere in sight when Mary Crawley came upstairs and found out she _wasn't_ in "One Day More".

_._

**7:36 a.m.**

Glancing at the piano the moment she walked into 402, Linda was pleased to see the gleaming stacks of new music, ready to be worked on. The young woman did enjoy _Rent_ and _Les Mis_ , but she was relieved that the choirs were moving past those auditions.

Besides, these were some of the show-tunes she found herself more interested in.

"When I Grow Up" from _Matilda_ , quite the sweet tune for the Treble Choir. For the Bass Choir, "Hushabye Mountain", a sweeping piece from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!_ that stole her heart ages ago. Then there was the title song of _42nd Street_ set aside for the Concert Choir. And then the hilariously cheeky "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better" from _Annie Get Your Gun_ , brought out for the _a cappella_ choir. Which left the classic "Holding Out For a Hero" from _Footloose!_ for the Bel Canto.

_Wait a moment, where's the other finale ––_

"Oh, Miss Vance, we're glad you're already here!" The door creaked up, Mrs. Hughes slipping past Mr. Carson, the final stack of music for the week in her arms. "Excited for the next round of auditions?"

"Right." Linda was still recovering from the last round. Luckily, the two teachers understood.

"Did we ever tell you _why_ 'This is the Moment' is a personal favourite?"

"I don't think so, no." Thankful for the distraction, the teaching assistant helped the Scot set the music sheets safely down.

"Well, it is a bit of a story. But, I do believe we have a little time, wouldn't you say so, Mr. Carson?"

The choir director looked as flustered as he did that night they were finalizing the callbacks. Possibly the story involved with "This is the Moment" was embarrassing to him, if Linda had to guess. Either way, he looked just as determined to seem collected and calm about the matter, "I do believe you're right, Mrs. Hughes."

_._

**8:54 a.m.**

After Molly Curtis realized that singing a solo in either _Les Mis_ or _Rent_ was not meant to be, she'd found herself somewhat dejectedly returning to the drawing board of opportunity. She wasn't the biggest fan of _Footloose_ , but "Holding Out For a Hero" was a cool song she and her mum would jam to a lot over the years. And since there wasn't a solo in any of the other songs for Bel Canto, that was probably it for solo opportunities. Unless the teachers decided at the last minute to add a small ensemble piece. But, since that was as likely as snow in August, she found herself waiting for the day they'd get the _Footloose!_ sheet music.

Opening the door to 402, spotting all the sheet music of the week waiting to be picked up, Molly felt her heart soar as she remembered the joy that came with discovering new music. Even though she'd already known what they'd be working on in Bel Canto for the semester, it was always exciting to see new music to engage with –– it made the concerts and the competitions more real.

_But––_ "What's this?"

There was "Holding Out For a Hero", as she'd been secretly hoping. But, there was one other stack of sheet music resting beside it –– the song she hadn't immediately recognized from before!

"This is the Moment" as from _Jekyll and Hyde._

Molly stared at the sheet music, ecstatic that she'd finally be getting an answer to what this piece was about. The idea of Jekyll and Hyde hadn't appealed to her when she was younger, so this was never a musical she was drawn to. But, if it was cool enough for Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes to pick, then she was invested.

"Do you know this one, Molly?" Mrs. Hughes' curious voice shocked the younger woman out of her thoughts, the brunette jumping back from the piano and ignoring the snickers from her peers.

"Never heard of it before this semester, Mrs. Hughes." Honesty was probably her best bet, especially seeing as how she was a terrible liar.

"Yes, well, this was a special piece for the choirs last year. But you auditioned straight into Bel Canto this year, isn't that right?"

"That's right, Mrs. Hughes." Though, now she was regretting having not been a part of the fun last year. The Emma Butte business aside, she would've loved to have seen Elsie Hughes' debut as a choir teacher –– especially now that she'd had the Scot as a teacher for a semester. "I'm only sorry I didn't join from the start."

"Oh, there's no need for that," Mrs. Hughes chided the younger singer, "You get to share in the fun now and that's the important part."

"It really is, isn't it?"

_._

**Tuesday, the 21st of January, 2020**

**9:51 a.m.**

"Whenever you're ready, Rose, just let us know." Nodding to Mr. Carson, Rose kept her head bowed and her eyes closed. She was fully aware that Miss Vance would play the audition accompaniment for "42nd Street" only once she gave the signal that she was ready.

_All righty, then._ It was time to show Mr. Carson that she wasn't just the girl behind their social media and fundraising pages.

Conjuring up images of New York back in the day, the scenery that would envelope this particular piece, she let the city fumes and cigarette smoke float around her. She tasted that odour only urban life gave and felt the spotlights of Broadway pointed directly at her, the sounds of the subways and chattering crowds filling her up as she lifted her head and stared point-blank at the choir director. Normally, for nerves among other things, soloists were typically told to look a few inches above their audience. And while she'd eventually do just that, she had no interest in humouring her nerves today.

Rose silently breathed in once more and centered herself, giving the signal for Miss Vance to begin only when she was truly ready.

The piano keys danced along to the sultry melody, slinking through the notes with a grimy ease. Inwardly grinning at the noise, imagining the wind instruments that would take the piano's place in the official performance, she waited for her cue to come in. And, taking her sweet time to drink in the atmosphere, Rose began to perform.

" _In the heart of little old New York,_

_You'll find a thoroughfare."_

_It's the part of little old New York,_

_That runs into Times Square."_

Making sure to keep still, knowing that it was key to move purposefully –– _not_ sporadically –– when performing, Rose kept her body focused on producing that jazzy sound and her face animated, maintaining energy throughout each measure of music and then some.

" _A crazy quilt that_

' _Wall Street Jack' built,"_

Seeing as how this was one of her favourite musicals, she could probably recite the whole thing in her sleep. _42nd Street_ was an older show for musical theatre, with well-known show-tunes like "42nd Street" and "Lullaby of Broadway" –– songs she'd snuck into her room when she was a lot younger, secretly playing and singing and dancing along to them whenever she could.

" _If you've got a little time to spare,_

_I want to take you there,"_

Sustaining the last note of that lyric, eyes alit with delight, she coolly lifted a hand in front of her–– as though beckoning an invisible audience to follow her lead and join her. Then, smoothly stepping away from the piano, to get enough space for what she was about to do, Rose carried on with her original plan:

Improvising a simple tap dance sequence as she continued to sing.

" _Come and meet those dancing feet,"_

Languidly grape-vining a fair distance to the left as she sang, Rose let her feet begin to take over. It wouldn't be proper tap, if only because she didn't bring her shoes and the floor wasn't right for that. But, gradually beginning to step out and dance as best as she could, she'd make it work.

" _On the avenue I'm taking you to,_

_Forty-Second Street."_

The soprano held back a pleased grin at the sight of Mr. Carson's jaw dropping, noticing in the background that the accompaniment had stumbled a little in shock. And, throwing in a spin, firmly keeping her core muscles in mind as she did so, she kept on going –– thoroughly enjoying every second of this audition.

" _Hear the beat_

_Of dancing feet,"_

This was nowhere near the speed she loved to get up to, the young woman smart enough to know that doing too much physical exercise would make it really hard to sing at the same time. Still, she could only suppose that to the outside world, it looked like a lot of work. Truthfully, it was a fair amount of work –– she was just determined to keep going.

" _It's the song I love the melody of,_

_Forty-Second Street."_

Not once breaking character, Rose regally arched an eyebrow and beamed as she finished her bit, a playful smile securely attached to her face as her audition ended. It had been pretty hilarious watching the choir director as he tried to school his features into something other than shock.

"Thank you, Rose, for your audition." Mr. Carson eventually managed, unable to hide his being impressed with the whole bit, "We'll–– I'll be sure to let you know when –– _if_ you've received a callback."

_._

**4:40 p.m.**

Oh, Phoebe had missed this.

She'd missed this a lot.

" _It's you in the sunrise,_

_It's you in my cup._

_It's you all the way into town."_

Francesca could say whatever she liked about traditional choral sounds, but there was nothing like four-part _a cappella_ harmony. Nothing like singing in a group where all that mattered was the chords and the sounds coming together.

" _It's your sweet 'Hello, dear'_

_That sets me up._

_And it's your 'Got to go, dear'_

_That gets me down."_

When Elsie had invited her teaching assistant to try out for the role of tenor, Phoebe had been hesitant. Nothing against Linda, but she had really wanted Francesca to give barbershop a go –– having hoped for a singing opportunity with her boss and friend. However, Francesca couldn't commit to Tuesday afternoons –– stupid Carlisle meetings, as Phoebe liked to think of them. So, even though she had her hesitation, Phoebe couldn't really protest Linda's presence.

" _It's you on my pillow_

_In all my dreams."_

And, of course, once the four of them began to warm up and get into the swing of things, Phoebe had to admit that this had been the right decision.

"' _Til once more the morning breaks through._

_What words could be saner or truer or plainer_

_Than it's you. It's you,_

_It's you."_

_._

**Wednesday, the 22nd of January, 2020**

**11:48 a.m.**

Was that who Elsie thought it was, trying to backtrack out of the second fourth floor before he'd been spotted? Opening one of the doors to 403, poking her head out into the hallway, she managed to confirm her suspicions before said student backtracked all the way out of floor –– his girlfriend questioningly following behind.

"Tom!" The choir teacher had been surprised to see the young man pop by during what had to have been his lunch period. "Come on in, it's quite all right!"

"Hi, Mrs. Hughes," The Irish teen seemed unusually flustered as he entered 403, Sybil having been shooing him to go inside the moment he'd been called out by the Scot, "Mr. Carson said you'd be in here."

_None of which explained why you bolted away, but no matter._ "Just organizing some of my books for the soloists," The woman informed him warmly, having the funniest feeling that a solo was just the reason he'd dropped by today. "But, what brings you by?"

"Actually, Mrs. Hughes," It was endearing, the way the normally confident baritone was fumbling with his words today, " _I_ was hoping for a solo, if it's possible."

Elsie beamed at him, pleased that he was finally taking a chance. He'd seemed intrigued but hesitant last year, never asking for a chance to sing a solo. And now that it was his last year at Downton, the Scot felt a sense of gratuity he was at least willing to give it a try.

"Something Irish, I suppose?" She lightly teased, already scanning her memories for a particularly fitting tune.

"Actually, Mrs. Hughes," He repeated, hesitancy dipping back into the request, "It doesn't have to be Irish."

_What?_ Elsie blinked, reeling in the surprise as the young singer continued to state his piece:

"I just want to sing something that reflects me."

_My, my._ But, it did make sense. One could relate a lot to their culture, of course. A culture could be the foundation for one's beliefs. But, sometimes, one needed to look past their culture and everything all of that represented.

Sometimes, one needed to find their own story, away from their culture and heritage. And, as initially shocked as she was, Elsie already had a fairly good idea as to a song that would reflect the Tom Branson she knew.

"I don't suppose you mind advocating for a more political message, then?" He gave a start at that, but she was already reaching for the appropriate songbook - confidently flipping through the pages. "No, I suppose only Mr. Carson might have a problem with political messages."

The teen was respectful enough not to chuckle at this, but that could've been due to the residual shock from her last question. As it stood, the young man looked to be nearly gaping at her inquiry, eyeing her movements with surprise as his brain worked overtime to catch up with the scene.

"Erm, I think I could do political messages."

Elsie smiled.

"I had a feeling you could," Having found the appropriate page, Elsie picked up the book and beckoned Tom to follow her. Now was time to begin the delightful process of copying the pages so the baritone could have his own copy to reference. "The real question is: have you ever heard of a musical called _Ragtime_?"

Sybil Crawley was still patiently waiting in the hallway, knowing just a single glance what Elsie was in the process of doing for Tom. The teacher and student duo nodded at the pleased soprano, quietly walking past toward the one copy machine on the floor –– he could hardly borrow her book, now could he?"

"We'll just be a moment, Sybil!" He turned back to the older woman only once his girlfriend nodded in understanding, "And no, Mrs. Hughes, I haven't."

"Well, then," The Scot couldn't help the infectious enthusiasm emanating from Miss Crawley, even as she carried on journeying toward the dreaded printer and copy machine, "This ought to be fun."

Little did either teacher or student know, the fun was only just beginning.

_._

**3:26 p.m.**

"Mrs. Hughes, are you in here?"

Charles Carson was nervous to say the least about facing Alice Neal in only an hour. She didn't intimidate him, but he'd learned last spring that she was not to be trusted. That, whoever she'd been in the past, this sort of life had pushed her down paths he could no longer respect. And, perhaps, she'd been this way all along. But, whatever the case, he now knew he'd not want to have any further dealings with her, not if he could help.

Which meant this meeting with her, even with Elsie by his side, frustrated him to no end.

So, when he'd returned to the second fourth floor to find his fiancée and make preparations for the rest of their day, he'd been surprised to discover only her coat was waiting for him in 402 –– the outerwear resting on the chair next to her desk. He could only assume she was in 403, but glancing into the room from the hallway didn't reveal her inside. Hence, his stepping into the room and calling out for her, hoping that she hadn't disappeared right before this stupid meeting.

"I'm in here, Mr. Carson!" Sighing in relief at the muffled sound of her voice, taking a moment to look about the room, he realized she was looking in 403's storage closet for something. Though the relief didn't last long: walking over to the closet, he caught sight of Jimmy in the hallway outside –– looking to be on the prowl for a choral authority figure.

Ever since the blond teen had auditioned for "This is the Moment", only a few hours ago, he'd been looking for chances to ask for a redo –– much like the last time he auditioned. Charles thought the pestering would stop once the lunch periods ended, but he really should've known better. Which is why he felt absolutely no shame in ducking out of sight of the tenor, hurriedly joining Elsie in the closet and shutting the door firmly behind before he was spotted.

"Mr. Carson, what––"

"Trust me, Elsie," He was far too nervous about Alice's machinations if he needed to break with formalities. "It's for the best."

Right on cue, the tenor opened the door and loudly asked, "Mrs. Hughes? Mr. Carson? I really think you need to let me re-audition!" Then, after a moment, "I'm not leaving the second fourth floor until you let me re-audition!"

Charles silently reached out a hand to take hers in, hoping she'd get the message that he really didn't want to deal with the tenor right now. Knowing the blond in question, Jimmy would insist on re-auditioning again and again until he felt it was "perfect". And though the teen ought to take no for an answer –– having already been told their policy on auditions multiple times now –– the choir director didn't want to bother trying to get it through the boy's head.

_I don't care how talented he is –– we're definitely not giving him a solo **ever**._

Only once the blond irritatedly departed from the room did his fiancée lightly chide him on the matter: "Well, _that_ wasn't childish, Charles."

Sighing to himself, recalling a conversation "So much for raising the tone of the choirs."

"None of that now," She knew perfectly well what was running through his mind, also fully comprehending why he wasn't in the mood to deal with that particular student. "I understand why, Charles, even though I think I need to remind you of something."

"And what's that, Elsie?" _That I really am an old fool for not being able to handle a student like James Kent?_

"My keys are in my coat pocket in 402."

"And?"

She darkly chuckled, now understanding just how stressed her fiancé was about dealing with Alice.

"Do you not recall that, since 403 is my room, only I have the key to this door? _And_ that it can't be unlocked from the inside?"

_Oh._ "Right. So, you mean that–– that––" Turning to the door in the darkness, Charles mentally cursed himself for his lack of thinking. This building was old enough their locks were old-fashioned, some of which to the point of faultiness.

"Do I mean that we're locked in here for the foreseeable future?" She managed not to chuckle at this, flipping on the light-switch for the one bulb in the closet, unable to believe their luck. "That's exactly what I mean, Charles."

"And with our phones in the other room," Elsie hadn't been the only one to leave her coat, and consequently her phone, behind in 402. He hadn't even thought of grabbing his coat before walking to 403, wanting to know where his fiancée was before doing anything else. "We've no way of contacting anyone. Which means we also don't have a way of telling Alice we're currently detained and won't be able to meet."

This time, she did snort in amusement.

"It's not funny, Elsie." Though, he was hardly complaining. Yes, it was embarrassing to think that _he_ was the cause of this debacle. And, yet, somehow –– possibly because of her influence this last year –– the man found some humour in the situation. Perhaps because it was so terribly out of character for him, probably because it was Alice that they were meeting. And, so, even though there'd undoubtedly be some sort of hell to pay, it was somewhat amusing to have unintentionally caused this set-back.

"At least it's not the administration's break room?" Charles shot her a look at this, unable to help his own chuckles that escaped at the quip. "And, thankfully, I had the foresight to bring a mini-fridge and that toaster up here over the summer, so we can at least have some toast with whatever else is still fresh."

"That's if Miss Vance hasn't already left." He could faintly hope that this fiasco could be ended by their teaching assistant miraculously knocking on the door and managing to get them out of this closet. But, he didn't see the woman's coat anywhere in 402, indicating that she'd long since left for the day.

That was right –– Miss Vance had mentioned she needed to leave immediately for a doctor's appointment, having written down a note entailing her opinion about who to consider calling back on his desk.

Of course, that was in 402.

"You never know, Jimmy might come back. He did say as such." She teasingly reminded him, causing the man to shudder in response. Obviously, even if the tenor came back, conversing with him was _not_ an option for the man.

In other words, he had no qualms about changing the subject.

"Toast for dinner sounds perfect. Though," Eyeing the insides of the closet, noticing the old Christmas decorations and the mini-fridge tucked away in the corner with the toaster, "I see you didn't sneak a sofa in here."

She chortled at this, "And _what_ is that supposed to mean?"

He blushed, not interested in elaborating. But, after a moment, "I was only wondering what the sleeping arrangements were to be, if we are to be stuck here for the night."

"Don't you want to be stuck with me, Charlie?" Now she was outright flirting, causing him to become even more embarrassed. There was an appropriate response to that and then there was the more accurate response to that.

Luckily, she took pity on him this time, "We've enough yoga mats here we could make a queen-size mattress with plenty of thickness to it. It won't be perfect, but it'll do."

"Just how much have you managed to pack in here, Elsie?" Charles hadn't thought to utilize 403's closet, never needing the space. But, now that he was beginning to see the possibilities, he couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't used it before.

Of course, once her comment fully struck, he couldn't help but blush again. Even with their engagement, this was an indecorous situation for them to entangled in––

But, was it really?

After everything they'd gone through, was it truly indecorous?

"Oh, just a few odds and ends," She lightly explained, oblivious to the realization spinning around his mind. "And I do promise: we can maintain a safe distance if we're still here tonight. I know how important it is to set an example for the students."

Moving away from him, taking a peek inside the fridge to see what their options were," I can only hope you're not too upset with yourself for this."

"I'm not upset, actually." He was far too lucky to have her in his life, smiling as he felt her confusion begin to grow. Sod Alice Neal –– this accident was beginning to be the most appealing mistake he'd ever made. He'd never do it ever again, but he was so glad he had done this in the first place. "Maybe before I might've been upset, crabby even. And perhaps I would've asked to be convinced this wasn't a terrible idea,"

The woman snorted at this, appreciating the honesty.

"But, our time together has long since convinced me there's nothing to fear."

Elsie stared at him, fridge long forgotten, wondering where on earth this was all coming from. In her eyes, he hadn't exactly done a 180 –– but it was a near thing.

Charles still wasn't finished, "And, there's a bonus."

"What's that?" _Not having to deal with Alice Neal for another day?_

"It gives us a chance to be together, just the two of us." Not slipping away from town for an hour only to come back to help plan the wedding. Not having to take on the tasks that came with orchestrating a showcase only to realize they had no time to breathe. "Much as I've enjoyed planning everything, I'm not comfortable with how little time we've gotten to spend, just us two."

She stared at him in wonderment, unable to hide the shock. And then, trying to joke so as to regain a sense of normalcy, "Flattery won't get you out of talking about potential callbacks, Charles. Linda may not be here, but we still have decisions to make."

Looking as if he frankly didn't giving a flying fig about the callbacks, the choir director kept squarely meeting her gaze. It was enough to make her feel terribly unsteady, as though they were in some sort of alternate universe where everything was upside-down and everyone's personalities were flipped.

And when Charles continued to look at her, not helping his fiancée bring them back to a familiar ground by changing the subject, she tried humour once again: "You know, when you talk like that, you make me want to check my phone to see if there's any new messages."

Of course, both of their phones were quite a ways away –– still back in 402, something she knew as well as Fauré's "Notre Armour". What Elsie didn't know, what she didn't understand, was why he continued to look at her as though they were back in their flat. She had nothing against a little romance or flirtation, but she did remember how on-edge he'd been the last time they'd wound up stuck in the school last spring. And while that night had ended splendidly, he'd initially been so adamant against staying in the choir rooms that she thought he'd be more appalled by all of this. Not only that, surely the horror of missing an official meeting involving the choirs would take more precedence over this unplanned moment?

Had the man really changed that much?

"Don't tell me you _want_ an interruption?" Charles quietly asked her, still enamoured with gazing at her even as disappointment trickled into his eyes.

Well, that decided it.

Firmly shutting the mini-fridge door shut, the woman faced him properly and let some of her own feelings show themselves. If he could change that much, if he could trust her this much, she could do the same –– she _wanted_ to do the same.

"Not in the slightest."

They'd talk about callbacks and worry about Alice later.

Now was about closing the distance between them, the key-change of their conversation blanketing the air with an encouraging chord or two of trust. Now was about syncopating the normal rhythm of their talks, _crescendoing_ into something far more enjoyable than their typical dynamic of late.

"Right." Charles began to speak, reaching out a hand to cup her cheek at _andantino_ , content to take his time. She was already ahead at him, rising on her tiptoes at _allegro_ to bring them together once more.

And, for once?

There wouldn't be anymore interruptions in sight –– no distractions for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I confess, I've been wanting to work in and reference that original Series 5 scene for quite some time –– with a slight change, of course! Because 1) they really shouldn't have been interrupted and 2) if you're going to write a story involving music, you might as well incorporate some terminology while you're at it!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that, and have a lovely day!


	7. Bickering Staff and Bewildered Students

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Oh, academic politics. I have not missed you in the slightest.
> 
> In other words, much like with _Her Little Secret, His Little Dream,_ I simply had to post this earlier than anticipated! We're finally getting into the heart of the action when it comes to all of these schools, doing a bit of time-lapse in the process! Which, **keep an eye out for the second author's note! There's a proposition I have...**
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Not only do I not own _Downton Abbey_ , none of this is meant to resemble any real persons or events. Any such resemblance is purely coincidental and unintentional.

**Friday, the 24th of January, 2020**

**3:43 p.m.**

“Can I just say how grateful I am that you’ve learned from your mistakes and did _not_ call Daisy and Ivy back for the _same_ parts again? Not that Daisy struck me as the ‘42nd Street’ type, but nothing seems to be a guarantee these days.”

Elsie rolled her eyes at this, now recalling all the complaints she’d received about that incident. Glancing at the callbacks list for the week, she decided to focus on studying the hallway itself so as to not lose her temper with her friend.

“Why would we make the same mistake twice?”

But Beryl looked to be beyond talking about that now, intently studying something of interest on the callback lists, “Oh, I am shocked –– Mary Crawley hasn’t gotten a single solo in all this time?”

This brought a sense of irritation to the teacher, the Scot quite used to this conversation from a certain someone else, “She has a solo of her own, Beryl. She just hasn’t met our expectations for any ensemble solos.”

“Right. And the difference is––?”

“You know very well what the difference is: we can tailor a soloist’s song to the singer. The singer has to tailor themselves to the ensemble piece –– something that Mary Crawley has yet to do.”

“And _he_ agrees with this opinion?”

“Mr. Carson has agreed that we need to make our decisions based off of the pieces themselves, not the students.”

The band director chuckled at this, “I’m sure those weren’t his exact words. But, I’ll leave that well alone.” _For now, of course._

“Thank you for that.” Because, knowing her dear, sweet friend, that wouldn’t be the end of the conversation.

“Instead, I’m curious: who’s pitched a fit about the callbacks so far?”

“Beryl––”

“It does look like a pretty calm list for this week, but it’s always the ones that seem calm that you have to keep an eye out for. Matthew, William, Rose –– they’ve always struck me as good kids, though you never know. And, of course, I don’t recognize any of these names”

“Beryl, there’s no need for––”

“Mrs. Patmore,” It seemed the choir director had heard them speaking all the way from his desk in 402, having cracked open the door to interrupt them. “If you could refrain from distracting Mrs. Hughes from her duties, I have something I need to discuss with her.”

Scoffing at the man, “And what’s _that_ important, Mr. Carson?”

But, Elsie had a good idea why he was frustrated: “We finally got another response from Alice, didn’t we?”

“Worse.” 

Beryl raised an eyebrow at this, keeping her thoughts to herself as she followed the two teachers back into the room. Nodding in the direction of Linda, having liked the teaching assistant from the first day she met her, the band director proceeded to look at what Charles wanted Elsie to focus: his email inbox.

_What’s so bad about––_

That’s when Beryl saw the three emails waiting in his inbox –– emails from three of the other schools in the area. Briefly skimming them as Charles showed them to Elsie, the woman shamelessly bent on finding out what was going on now, she found herself more and more irritated with Alice Neal with every second. 

“I don’t care what you two say, I still think she was going to do something like this with or without you missing that meeting.” Beryl spoke with an innate certainty, one that the choir director wished he could agree with.

Said choir director continued to reread the emails from Strallan, Grey, and Midsomer he’d received over the course of the afternoon. Strallan seemed to be disappointed but understanding as to why Downton never reached out to collaborate with them. Grey looked to be offering some support for the showcase and a whole lot of curiosity for why Downton was acting in this unusual fashion –– having heard that Downton not only missed their meeting with The Center but also wanted to work solely with their rival, Carlisle Institute. And Midsomer was supportive but concerned that the choirs of Downton were walking down an isolating path by ignoring the other schools among other things.

In other words, something had happened within the last twenty-four hours involving each choir director.

Something Alice Neal was behind, no doubt.

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Patmore, I can’t help but feel I’m to blame for this.” Yes, none of the other schools seemed to be terribly upset with them. But, knowing each of the choir directors as well as he did, Charles recognized that they undoubtedly were. That they felt their own institutions were viewed as “unworthy” to work with in the eyes of Downton, that they felt slighted against in light of the collaboration with Carlisle.

Well, Dickie probably didn’t think quite like that. He was probably the most understanding of the bunch. But, Charles was sure Anthony did. And he could see that Joyce had to feel a little offended by whatever she found out, if that was how she phrased her email. 

“We did explain to Alice that there’d been an unexpected emergency, and we did so as soon as we could,” Elsie interjected, rather unimpressed with everything. Had she realized that Alice would soon be meeting with these three, she might’ve tried to do things differently on Wednesday. But, in all honesty, she thought this unnecessarily dramatic of the woman, especially seeing as how Alice hadn’t bothered to check in with them via email or text when they hadn’t shown up.

“Don’t know if she’d count being stuck in a closet all night as an ‘emergency’, Elsie.” Beryl countered, not caring to be the bearer of bad news but not interested in sugar-coating the truth. 

“Yes, well, I, for one, still can’t believe that you, Miss Vance, had to discover us _asleep_ in the closet with only forty minutes to spare. Worst still, that you had to drive us back to our flat _and_ ––” 

“Linda hardly minded, Charles. She goes to uni –– she’s seen her fair share of all-nighters, haven’t you?” The teaching assistant nodded at this, having found the whole thing sweetly amusing more than anything else. Of course, that’d been then. Now she was berating herself for not being there when Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson needed her, especially considering the fall-out from the other schools.

“I really didn’t mind, Mr. Carson. This sort of stuff happens all the time.” 

“Does it really, Miss Vance?” He did look a little horrified at the thought. 

“Probably not like that though, eh? I mean, I doubt you find people passed out in a closet looking like––”

“Beryl, will you kindly hold your tongue?”

Mortified by where the conversation was going, Charles decided that it’d be more worthwhile to discuss the other thing on his mind: “I still can’t believe Alice wrote back to us so cordially yesterday, as though she completely understood everything, and then proceeded to involve the others.”

“We should have known she was up to something when she sent that response email, yes.” Elsie chimed in, once again thoroughly unimpressed, “But we were greatly behind schedule and we’ve had to manage this week’s callbacks.”

“It’s not as though this is all that big of a deal though, right?” Beryl continued to ask, still confused as to why everyone was getting so worked up. “I mean, all the band directors in the county just want to have a good time, none of this backstabbing business. If we get along just fine, why can’t you? ‘Sides, these other directors of yours don’t seem too upset –– I’m sure a meeting to explain everything would patch it all up.”

“Somehow I doubt that. Furthermore, there is an inherent difference between directing a _band_ and directing a _choir_ , Mrs. Patmore.”

“Oh, is there now, Mr. Carson?”

“Before we proceed to get at each other’s throats,” Elsie sharply interrupted, having noticed that she was receiving a new text, “I think we’ve something more important to worry about.”

**_I’m so sorry, Elsie but I think I just messed everything up. -- PM_ **

The Scot relayed Phoebe’s message back to the rest of the crowd, hurriedly texting back in response the following:

**_I promise that, whatever happened, you didn’t mess everything up. -- EH_ **

She got another text back almost instantaneously –– one that was not nearly as optimistic.

**_Really? Because I think Mr. Carson should check his email in a minute. -- PM_ **

_Now what?_ The woman scoffed to herself in frustration, setting down the phone and wondering what had happened. She had no interest in blaming the Carlisle instructor for whatever happened today –– she only wanted to know what Alice was concocting.

“Charles, in a minute, you’ll need to check your email––” That’s when the classroom’s only landline rang. Something that prompted the man, seeing as he was the closest to the phone, to pick it up. “Or not.”

“Mrs. Crawley? Is everything all right? You meant to check in on our progress with the showcase today? Well, now that you mention it…”

“Of course this is the moment Violet Crawley decides to ring us up,” Elsie muttered, her irritation coming back. 

“Erm, how do you know that it’s _Violet_ Crawley, Mrs. Hughes? He only said ‘Mrs.’?” 

Beryl chuckled at this, explaining:

“Linda, there’s only one ‘Mrs. Crawley’ that Charles would take the time to talk to when there’s a choral crisis on the horizon. But,” Walking over to the Scot, directing her to sit down as far away from Charles’ computer as possible, “Enough about Alice Neal. I’ve been meaning to ask: have you finally narrowed down a venue? Because, as you know, we don’t have a lot of time to sort that all out.”

Linda watched as the choir teacher seemed to deflate at the change in topic, apparently uninterested in the subject of wedding venues. 

Something that she thought was _never_ a good sign.

“Well, with the budget we have–– with the budget we can afford,” Which wasn’t much, if the woman’s tone was anything to go on, “The only two places we can afford are the banquet hall or the studio in Ripon.”

“You mean, it’s between the sad looking attempt at a banquet hall or that dodgy studio? What about that other place, the––”

“Too expensive.” Elsie flatly responded, “For a late June wedding, even indoors and on a Sunday, it’s too expensive.”

“So, what does he think about it?” Beryl sharply questioned, knowing that Mr. Exacting Standards would have a thing or two to say about the matter.

“He’s not thrilled, but he understands that these are our options. With the academic calendar the way it is, we can’t _avoid_ a summer wedding. And, while we could wait another year, why bother? Even if it’s not the studio or the banquet hall, it’ll never be Buckingham Palace –– _not_ that I want to have the reception there or anywhere like it.”

“And just where would you want it, Elsie?” The band director curiously put to her, “The school’s courtyard?”

Once again, Linda felt as though she were missing something, especially once the choir teacher chortled at the thought –– lighting up immediately at the mentioning of the courtyard. The idea did seem to spark interest for the woman, but there was still clear hesitation. 

“Although the courtyard is lovely, it’s also,” She paused, nearly biting her lip in the process from the hesitation, “It’s too special for the reception.”

“‘Too special for the reception’? You’ll have to explain that one to me.”

“Well, the courtyard is where he asked me to stay at Downton, where he _proposed_.” 

“And that’s a problem because––?”

“Because, and this has to be selfish, I know that, but I don’t want to share it with just anyone. I want it to be...” She trailed off, an unusual amount of hesitance taking over her thoughts.

“You want it to be your special place. Your little sanctuary for the two of you.” 

Both Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes turned in surprise at the teaching assistant’s words, the pair not realizing the younger woman had been discreetly listening in.

“That’s exactly it.” The Scot eventually confessed. And finally knowing how to explain it all, having not wanted to say anything before she was certain of herself, the woman began to elaborate:

“My wedding with Joe was wonderful, yes. But it was a ceremony for other people, not us. It was a sweet moment and I loved it dearly, but it always felt like more of a performance for our families than anything. And while it was a celebration of sorts, what I realized afterwards was that it wasn’t a true celebration of us, not really.” 

“But, wouldn’t you want the courtyard because it symbolizes you two?” _Besides, we used it for the concert last year and it worked perfectly. Why’s this any different?_

But the woman was firm on this front, surprisingly so, “No, I would not. Even if we could get the courtyard, I know it would take on whatever will happen.”

_Okay then?_ “And that’s not what happened with the concert?” 

“Last year’s concert was about the students and their struggles, not us. The reception would be only about us. So, if any part of that day wasn’t what we really wanted, if something went terribly wrong with the ceremony or the reception, it wouldn’t ruin the courtyard’s nostalgia, exactly, but––”

“But it would taint all the memories from before.” Beryl concluded, not necessarily agreeing with the reasoning but respecting her friend enough to let it be –– at least for now. Instead, she turned her thoughts into thinking about the logistics. 

In other words, how they’d be cramming everyone in there. 

Keeping the logistics in mind, even though the courtyard had made sense for a concert, it was looking to be less and less appealing for a wedding reception. With a concert, there only needed to be chairs scattered about and a space for the performing singers, and even then they were able to use the surrounding classrooms for additional seating. With a wedding, there’d have to be chairs and tables for a fair amount of people, a space for catering and the cake, a section for dancing, so on and so forth.

Put like that, Beryl didn’t like the idea of asking the school for the courtyard. She could just imagine it: using the chairs in the classrooms for additional seating, keeping the wedding cake stuck inside near administration –– definitely not worth the tidbits of sentimentality.

“Right.” Best to stop right there with that idea, especially since Elsie was already against the idea, “So, I’ll ask again: where would you like this to be?”

“There’s honestly no place I had in mind. Just,” The woman gazed in the direction of her fiancé, the man continuing to be completely immersed in his phone conversation, “Somewhere nice. Grand enough for him, simple enough for me. I’ve done this before and I liked it well enough, but... I suppose, if anything, a place where it doesn’t matter what everyone else expects because it’s all swept away with the summer’s breeze.”

The choir teacher chuckled at herself, shaking her head and bringing her focus back to her friend, “In all honesty, there’s too much going on to get caught up in that sort of sentimentality. We have to deal with whatever Alice’s sending our way, we have to manage this showcase, and we have to make it through this semester with our sanity intact, and we _have_ to keep to our budget. Which means we _will_ take whatever we can get.”

Linda frowned at this mentality, but knew better than to challenge the woman just yet. If she’d learned anything about the two choir teachers these last few weeks, it was that it'd be pretty near impossible to convince them of something when their minds were made up. Therefore, changing her tactics, “So, between the banquet hall or the studio, which would you prefer?”

“I suppose the banquet hall would suit us just fine.” Though, the teaching assistant did notice that Mrs. Hughes didn’t really believe that for one second, much as she may have wanted to pretend to.

However, before anything else could be said about the matter, “Elsie, Beryl, Lin–– Miss Vance, I think you ought to come back over here and see this.”

Turning in surprise, not having realized Mr. Carson had finished with his telephone call, Linda found herself feeling uneasy about his near slip. She suspected he’d almost called her Linda not by choice but because of shock. Specifically, she had the funniest suspicion that slip had been entirely due to whatever email he’d just received.

The assistant cautiously stood up, observing Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore walk over to Mr. Carson with a sense of wariness. Frankly, she didn’t like any of it. 

“So, _that’s_ why Phoebe texted me.”

Linda hesitantly approached the computer’s monitor after a moment, standing on her tiptoes to read the email without disturbing any of the three teachers. Craning her neck, her frown deepened the further she read the latest email.

It was a letter sent from the choir head of Carlisle Institute, Francesca Barnes, addressed to each of the schools in question –– The Center, Downton, Grey, Midsomer, and Strallan. It requested a meeting between all schools this weekend to discuss possible ways to include everyone on future collaborations, stating that Carlisle profusely apologized for not including the others school in the original collaboration, having not realized that this was something the others were interested in.

Although this had come from Carlisle Institute, this had The Center’s tricks written all behind it. That was something Linda hardly needed any help figuring out, newbie status or not.

“See? Even Francesca knew a meeting would be the right thing to patch this all up.” 

Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson glared at Mrs. Patmore, knowing very well that this was _not_ going to patch things up. 

But, whatever misgivings they had about this, they’d undoubtedly be attending this meeting. 

_._

**Sunday, the 26th of January, 2020**

**6:47 a.m.**

  
  


“Mum,” Francesca Barnes looked at her daughter with a shocked smile, not having expected company at this early hour on a Sunday morning, “Are you sure you have to go to that stupid meeting?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the blunt comment, knowing that Christina Barnes was certainly an exception to their family when it came to honesty. Most of the Barnes family prided themselves on remaining outwardly indifferent to the world, keeping their innermost thoughts under lock-and-key. Christina lived to do just the opposite, something that amused her mother to no end, especially on days like today.

“If I don’t go to this meeting, then we’ll have to keep dealing with the person who caused the meeting in the first place. Then I’d have to keep going to more and more meetings instead of being home with you and your father.”

“Oh!” Realization dawned upon the eight-year old, “Oh, then, you should go now. And then, when you’re done, you won’t have to deal with that person ever again! And then, after that, you’ll come back and we’ll be able to _finally_ bake cookies with dad! ”

_I don’t think that’s quite how the system works. But,_ “That we will.” 

Baking was another activity she was looking much more forward to in comparison to this “stupid” meeting. But, such was the life of a choir director, whether she wanted it to be or not.

At least she wasn’t Charles Carson or Elsie Hughes. Those two individuals, as much as she found them to be capable and professional musicians, were undoubtedly going to have to handle a lot more than she would for the duration of this meeting -- if only because they’d incurred the wrath of one Alice Neal. 

But, if she worried about them before this meeting began, she wouldn’t have the energy to defend them. Because Francesca Barnes had no doubt whatsoever that a diplomatic defense would be necessary today, knowing how tricky politics in academia could be.

“Now, give me a kiss so I can go get this meeting and then it’ll be time for cookies!”

_._

**6:51 a.m.**

“It’s a bit of a drive, but I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Joyce Barnaby reassured her husband and daughter, inwardly chuckling at the irony. For once, she was the one who would be leaving them alone for hours on end. “Now, you’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yeah, mum, we’ll be fine,” Cully was quick to reassure the older woman, smiling a little at the questions. “Now go and show them all what Midsomer has to offer!” 

Nodding at the encouraging remark, knowing that she’d need her patience for this particular meeting, Joyce blew her daughter a kiss from the car -- mentally preparing herself for the journey ahead of her. The drive itself wouldn’t be the issue; she felt the real issue laid with whatever would occur at the meeting.

_._

**6:58 a.m.**

Charles Carson knew that his fiancée wouldn’t be particularly pleased that he was letting her sleep in –– the woman having spent the night subtly fretting away to the point that she’d worn herself to exhaustion. He hadn’t been much better himself, unable to care about any potential party favours for the wedding and finding himself repeatedly wondering what today would bring.

Luckily, Beryl had personally offered to drive them to Strallan so they wouldn’t need to push their luck with the train. Which meant they could spend a few more minutes away from the world before they’d have to start getting ready. Besides, one of their alarms would be blaring away at them soon enough –– he could enjoy this little calm before whatever was next.

_._

**9:31 a.m.**

Alice Neal indifferently eyed The Strallan School of Arts as Charlie drove them down to the faculty parking lot. The school had never impressed her, not having been her first choice for a meeting point between the schools. Personally, The Center was far more suitable, even if SSA was the best thing they had for a supposed mid-point between the schools.

“And just what are you up to do today?” Her unwilling partner in crime asked, putting the car into park and taking this moment to stare the woman down. She’d been extraordinarily tight-lipped about _why_ she inveigled Phoebe and Francesca into arranging this meeting, choosing to keep her cards close to the vest. 

“ _We_ are going to help the others realize what fools we’ve all been played for by Downton and Carlisle.” Alice finally felt deigned to give an answer, examining her appearance for any flaws as she did so. 

“Oh, we are, are we?” He snorted, “I didn’t think you considered yourself a fool.”

“Funny,” She snipped back, “Remind me, what were the highlights of your career? When exactly did you achieve fame?”

Grigg glared at her, turning off the car and not-so-gently exiting the vehicle –– slamming the door behind him, fully aware it was his own vehicle. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing who won that particular argument, shortly stepping out herself as she passed her self-examination in the mirror. 

“Alice? Is that you?”

With more than mere traces of irritation at the unanticipated interruption, the woman in question schooled her smirk into a welcoming smile. Once that was handled, she swiftly pivoted around to catch sight of Dickie Merton and Joyce Barnaby, the respective heads of Grey and Midsomer, approach her. 

“Dickie, Joyce, so great to see you again! I believe Charles, Anthony, and Francesca are already inside,” Alice warmly spoke, readying herself for the nattering small-talk that would soon ensue. And when Charlie quietly snorted at the sudden change in her tone, she made sure to discreetly elbow her partner in the ribs -- silencing any deviant sound within seconds.

**_._**

**9:47 a.m.**

“You mean they’re all meeting _right now_ to talk about whether or not we’re going to be doing this?”

Abigail Hankins by no means cared for Penelope Carlisle. The two were never interested in friendship; they merely acknowledged each other’s talent as a fellow musician. Needless to say, that acknowledgement is the only reason they were currently in the same room when it was not required of them on a Sunday morning. 

Of course, it could’ve been Connor’s influence. 

Or the fact that David was in the room. 

David always seemed to do something for Penelope’s tolerance of others whereas Connor’s friendship with Abigail made it easy for the young woman to refrain from strangling any _prima donnas_ on the spot.

“I think that’s what Abigail’s been trying to say for the last five minutes.” Connor pointed out, having been the one to tell his friend in the first place. 

It was only a few days ago that the tenor had been loitering around the choir rooms when their beloved teachers had a _discussion_ about how to best handle whatever was going on at The Center. He’d initially wanted to ask a few questions about the upcoming competitions, wanting to make sure he got the information right, and wound up eavesdropping on what had to have been a private conversation. 

Which turned into him texting Abigail about having heard something about their teachers considering if they needed to “ask the octet to change”. Which became a lengthy conversation that concluded along the lines of, “You mean, we’ve been dealing with Penelope _and_ Mary at each other’s throats for weeks just for it all to be over now because they’re calling it quits?” 

Of course, neither Connor nor Abigail were in the mood for this to be the case. 

Which was why the Carlisle portion of the octet was currently having a meeting of their own.

And that was _also_ why Abigail had half a mind to shoot a text off to Matthew. The tenor seemed to be the unofficial leader for the Downton group, whether he knew it or not. Certainly, Mary paid attention to him. And Thomas seemed indifferent but willing to listen to the tenor while Phyllis looked to openly support the teen.

So, if the tenor was half as popular as he seemed, he could be the lynchpin of the Downton group. Which in turn would help all eight musicians come together if they needed to. It was a little too idealistic for Abigail’s tastes, but she wasn’t about to sacrifice another chance to perform and get her name out because Penelope Carlisle had been too much of a brat for Miss Miller and Mrs. Hughes to handle.

Besides, she knew both women rather well after observing them for this time. Miss Miller, she already knew was an idealist –– having tried to convince her old friend, Mrs. Butte, into joining forces at Carlisle _only_ because she wanted to give the old friend another chance. And Mrs. Hughes looked to be of a similar nature. Why else would the choir teacher have agreed to working with the octet in the first place?

“Right. So, what are we going to do?” David, always able to bring their focus back, calmly asked the group. The bass was possibly the only mellow one in the bunch, effortlessly chilling them all out just by speaking.

“Well, there is one thing we could consider,” Abigail began to speak up, meeting everyone’s inquisitive eyes. It looked like it was time to roll out her plan...

_._

**10:35 a.m.**

“I do have to confess, Charles, and I wouldn’t dare to speak on behalf of everyone, but I was _severely_ disappointed when I heard Downton was only planning on collaborating with Carlisle.” 

Alice Neal always did have a tendency for the melodramatic. Something that Dickie Merton rarely cared for, if he were to be quite honest. But, unfortunately, this was one of the few moments wherein he agreed with the woman. Once he’d heard of Downton’s collaboration, he couldn’t but feel like he’d missed out on something. He hadn’t been half as upset but he’d certainly been confused.

“But, Alice,” Elsie Hughes began to speak up. However, her interjection wasn’t meant to last.

“Elsie,” There was a hint of something in the tone, something Dickie didn’t care for. “You haven’t even begun to hear us out.” The choir director watched as she turned to the three other choir directors that’d been left out of the original plan, “Don’t you agree that it was disappointing?”

Judging from Ms. Hughes’ stilling, this looked to be the ideal time to step in: “While I do hope we can all work together in the future, I realize now that Downton’s and Carlisle’s rehearsals for the spring have already started. _All_ of our rehearsals for the spring have already started. And while I was initially disappointed when I found out what had occurred, it’s far more important to avoid letting that disappointment ruin future potential for all of our schools.

He managed to keep the smile out of his eyes. Though, let it be known that he did slip a knowing and discreet wink in the vicinity of a certain Scot and her fiancé –– knowing that Alice had valid points, but she could step on toes and blow things out of proportion on occasion. It was something he never really liked about her. But, having seen that attitude repeatedly in his sons, he knew how to manage it. Honestly, it had been a necessity to learn how to manage it. 

For, if raising his children had taught Dickie anything, it that was that that sort of attitude would never sustain any sort of long-term collaboration. 

_._

**10:48 a.m.**

**_You can’t be serious! You honestly expect me to spend my Sunday with Penelope Carlisle? -- MC_ **

Matthew sighed to himself, still unsure of how to respond. Phyllis and Thomas had been agreeable enough when he texted them, the two curious about what the Carlisle students wanted to share. He himself was intrigued, not knowing why Abigail had reached out, but knowing that it had to be important if she did.

His only problem was figuring out how to help Mary see that. Because, whatever it was the others had to share, the tenor knew the entire octet had to be there to make this work.

_._

**11:21 a.m.**

“Love,” Albert Mason had been waiting for Beryl to step away from her phone for about three minutes now. They’d both driven the pair of choir teachers to Strallan together, having decided it’d be a nice excuse to get out of town and cruise around the area. “Love, you know she’ll let you know what happens when she can. And we’ve got that dinner with them tonight, remember?”

“I know, I know,” The redhead distractedly responded, eyes glued to the screen even in spite of the beautiful scenery. “But what if she sends something urgent while we’re busy?”

_We’ve not done anything in the last three hours,_ the man tiredly thought to himself, _how could we possibly be busy?_

_._

**12:03 p.m**

How they reached this point in the meeting, the quiet choir director couldn’t honestly tell. How they’d all managed to keep talking for hours on end, seeming to go in circles, was also equally unknown. 

At first it’d been about expressing everyone’s disappointments and feelings –– something that didn’t feel natural in the slightest, if he were being truthful. Then, it’d been about listening to Downton and Carlisle repeatedly insist that they were sorry about their mistake in not considering the other schools. Personally, he would’ve been fine with it all ending then and there, now feeling quite mollified by the proceedings, but for some reason it kept dragging out.

And, now they were discussing how Downton and Carlisle could make up for this mistake. Which he thought was laying on the guilt a little thick. But, if meant his school was also going to be officially asked to participate with the others, he couldn’t really object.

Of course, that’d been when they were starting to brainstorm ideas. 

Which translated into rejecting a lot of ideas. 

Making a group festival this July was politely shot down by Charles, the man stating that their wedding would, understandably, conflict. The joint Christmas concert was effectively shut down by Alice, the woman stating that Christmas music was too specific a genre in the modern world they lived in. While Joyce had gone on to say that it could be a holiday concert instead of just Christmas, that idea was still eventually taken off the table. And Dickie’s suggestion –– to select a dozen or so singers from each school to form a county choral group –– was currently in the process of being destroyed.

“But who would direct it? We can’t have _five_ directors on stage! And whoever it would be would have to be _the_ director for the entire collaboration. Which is something _I_ am perfectly fine with taking on, if I had to. But I would have to wonder if everyone else would feel truly included if it were only me on stage?”

“I’m sure we could figure out a way to manage the direction––” Oh, he did feel bad for Dickie.

“Well, wouldn’t that be exclusive to the students who want to participate but weren’t chosen? I’ve got a lot more than _twelve_ students I work with!”

“Twelve was only the first number that came to mind, I’m sure we could make it far more inclusive––” Truly, the Grey choir director was looking a little, well, _grey_ at the onslaught before him.

“While we all have more than enough experience to handle the direction of such an undertaking, I have to wonder if this is the smartest way to utilize our combined resources. Surely, there are other ways to collaborate?”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything that we can all agree upon. So,” And if Dickie Merton had nothing grand planned, nothing that the others could agree to, why would _he_ bother wasting their time?

“Do you have any thoughts, Anthony?”

The choir director weakly smiled in the direction of Joyce Barnaby, appreciating Midsomer’s choir director more than words could ever say –– though he really didn’t care to be put in the spotlight. Still, everyone else was lost in the debate, having long since given into squabbling amongst each other.

“Well, why can’t _we_ form a group instead?” 

_Because that, obviously, wouldn’t fall apart at the seams._ Anthony Strallan had honestly been joking when he suggested that, needing an outlet for his growing frustration with the situation. 

It was clear that Downton and Carlisle had already established a rapport among their eight singers –– a jaw-dropping implication in itself. And while Alice was right when she’d spoken of feeling disappointed, Anthony had long since resigned himself to the fact that others tended to look down upon his school. That, as talented as his singers were, they were frequently ignored, much like himself. He may have had a career a few decades ago, but he’d be a fool to say that it was a career still recognized today.

So, what’s why he joked about forming a group. Because, by now, it was confirmed to be absurd. Maybe not for Alice or Dickie or Joyce, but no one would ever want to collaborate with _him_. Not only that, but this meeting was proving just how terrible a joke it’d be if they even bothered –– they probably wouldn’t get past figuring out who’d be singing what.

Unfortunately for Anthony, Alice Neal wasn’t in the mood for joking.

“That’s a brilliant idea, Anthony!” He looked up in shock at the woman’s sudden enthusiasm, “We could form a group and perform in Downton’s showcase!”

_._

**12:41 p.m**

“You want to take limited rehearsal time to _converse_ with Mrs. Hughes and Miss Miller tomorrow? Delay our time to refine when we don’t even know if there’s anything to seriously concern ourselves with?”

Penelope glared at the haughty tone of Mary Crawley, entirely displeased with the soprano’s tone. The diva was carrying on much like normal, acting as though only her opinion mattered in the grand scheme!

“And what would you suggest then, hmm?”

“Anything but that!” Chuckling, amused by the apparent situation, “It’d be a waste of time when we don’t have that much to begin with, _and_ it’s all based on supposition –– Connor only thinks that’s what they were talking about, he’s no proof of anything. Surely you don’t agree with her, Matthew?”

“Actually, Mary,”

“You don’t _seriously_ think conversing about the subject is necessary?” She chuckled again, a little weaker this time, “Won’t we be unnecessarily jumping to conclusions?””

“While I think it’s true we shouldn’t jump to conclusions,”

“See? I _told_ you––”

“I do believe we need to reassure Mrs. Hughes and Miss Miller about our intentions to commit to this group.”

“What?”

_._

**1:42 p.m.**

“So, in the interest of fairness, each school will choose at least one teacher to represent them and form this group.” It was with more than a hint of fury that Elsie listened to Alice continue to boss them around, having hi-jacked Anthony’s idea as though it were her own. “Since Downton’s orchestrating the entire event with Carlisle’s help, Charles and Francesca will undoubtedly be under too much stress to handle directing this. However, since this is a brilliant idea for collaboration, one that needs to be taken rather seriously, _I_ am more than happy to take the lead.”

Tired murmurs of vague agreement rang about the table –– everyone too exhausted to disagree. Anthony Strallan looked surprised that his idea had gotten this far, Charlie Grigg nodding along Alice whenever it seemed appropriate. Joyce Barnaby looked to be thinking the matter over, much like Dickie Merton. Phoebe appeared to be impartial to the suggestion, but Elsie suspected there was a firmer opinion resting underneath that mask. However, before she or Charles could speak up on their own behalf, someone else was already speaking up in defense of them.

“I’m afraid, Alice,” Francesca Barnes coolly interjected from the other end of the table. “I have to disagree with the assessment that ‘stress’ is a factor to be considered in this matter. And, considering that it _is_ Downton’s concert we would be joining, I would also have to disagree with the belief that anyone other than Charles and Elsie should remain in charge.”

At this regally delivered objection, Elsie looked over at the woman with more than a trace or two of relief. She wouldn’t lie: any additional support when it came to the situation was greatly appreciated. 

“Hear, hear,” Anthony chimed in, a little enthusiastic for some sort of resolution.

“Besides, Alice, wouldn’t any possible burden be lifted if we all shared it?” Joyce Barnaby was another person that Elsie had carried particular gratuity for. Not having had a chance to interact with the woman at the previous competitions, she was only beginning to get an understanding of her character now. And, she could easily confess she appreciated what she saw. 

“I think Joyce’s right,” Dickie chimed in, smiling warmly at the Downton and Carlisle instructors. “And since it’s Downton’s show we’d be crashing, shouldn’t Charles have the final say in the matter?”

“Indeed,” Elsie inwardly smiled at her man’s deep timbre finally making itself known in this conversation and commanding the table’s presence at last. “And may I just say it would be an honour to direct this collaboration,” Sharing a look with her, the pair making a silent decision within seconds, “And, if it helps to alleviate any concerns, my fiancée has already begun to form a singing group for faculty.”

Elsie took up the mantle on this speaking point, inwardly praying that Beryl wouldn’t blow a gasket upon hearing about this change in plan. 

“A group that I’d be equally honoured to have you join.” She was only referring to Francesca, Phoebe, Dickie, Joyce, and Anthony. But, The Center’s participation was a small burden to carry if it meant that Alice Neal couldn’t walk away complaining of how insensitive Downton was to everyone else. If it meant there’d be no more sowing seeds of discontent among the schools, no more behind-the-scenes manipulation to deal with, she would easily go so far as to give up her part as the lead in the quartet.

_._

**2:23 p.m.**

“Mum’s still at that stupid meeting, isn’t she?” Christina Barnes could only surf Youtube for only so long before she needed answers on where her mother is.

“Mum is still at that stupid meeting.” Her father, Erza Barnes, confirmed –– amused by his daughter’s word choice. “Shall we give her another hour?”

“Fine.” The eight-year old was hardly pleased by this, “But if she’s not back soon, we’re just going to make cookies _without_ her!”

_._

**2:26 p.m.**

“So,” Phoebe tiredly brought the continued bickering to a halt, “We’re in agreement then? Two songs, weekly Friday rehearsals –– not Tuesdays – that’ll start in February. And, we’ll set the time for 4:30pm so it’s after all our schools are out for the day. _Everyone_ will be voiced, to make sure the group really has the right formation of parts. And, we’ll meet at Downton––”

“I really don’t see why we can’t alternate between the schools,” Alice began to protest, essentially on-board for every aspect except that last one. “Besides, Downton isn’t convenient––”

“Well, we need a consistent rehearsal space, Alice. _And_ the show will be at Downton.” Joyce Barnaby had been losing her patience with the woman and she had probably been the one with the most patience of the group. 

“Which reminds me, do you have someone in mind for voicing everyone’s new parts?” Anthony’s question turned every head at the table in his direction, but he didn’t back down from the sudden attention, frankly too tired to care. “Because I know someone who can do the job.”

“Oh, I’ve got someone, too––”

“That’d be appreciated, Anthony.” Somehow, Elsie got the impression that Jane Bird, who was her original choice when it came to voicing musicians, would be a little too biased to _neutrally_ voice the new group. And as much as it’d be great to see Alice attempt to sing bass, because she wouldn’t put it past Jane to deviantly suggest that, it wouldn’t end well. 

“Of course. I’ll be sure to ask Lila if she’ll be able to come to our first rehearsal.”

“So, I am to take it that our meeting is adjourned?” Phoebe carefully put to the entire table, the woman beginning to lose her collected demeanour. 

“I do believe so.” “I’d say so.” “Indeed.”

“Well,” Charlie Grigg spoke for what was possibly the first time during the entire meeting, his tone full of too much cheek for Elsie’s liking, “This ought to be fun!”

She was not alone in subtly glaring at the man; Charles was already shooting the official head of The Center a certain look he saved for the most obnoxious of students. But, it wasn’t that big of a deal: they survived the meeting with their dignity mostly in-tact, that was what was important.

If nothing else, they’d have a lovely dinner with just friends in just a few hours to forget all about this meeting from hell. And they could breathe a little more easily now that the meeting had taken place. For, as far as they knew, whatever Alice had been planning had been squashed right then and there. 

Besides, if she became hell-bent on trying anything else, the presence of the other schools would certainly make a difference.

_._

**2:43 p.m.**

“So much for _that_ ,” Charlie cackled as they got into the car, tickled with how it all went, “The supposed Lark of the Stage strikes again, except nothing happened and nobody cares!”

Alice snorted at this, rolling her eyes at the attempted barb, “Oh, that’s right: you _are_ funny on occasion.”

Well, he hadn’t expected her to act quite like that. They just went through what felt like thousands of hours of non-stop bickering, but none of her ideas had passed through and it all worked out –– why did she act as though she’d won?

“I’m always hilarious and you’re not nearly as pissed as I thought you’d be.”

Now this exclamation had her tittering with laughter, the woman shaking her head as though her colleague were a child learning Solfege Syllables for the first time, “Why should I be upset when everything worked out perfectly?”

“But it didn’t work out perfectly! No one was made to look like a fool today,” These words didn’t change anything within the woman, her smirk only growing, “Hell, we’ve even got everyone working _together_ for a change! I don’t see how any part of today worked to your advantage.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this obtuse, Charlie. But,” She drew out a long-winded sigh, pretending to be disappointed despite the fact that her smirk was only spreading even further, “If you’re unable to use your admittedly limited imagination, I suppose I can be pushed to draw out the picture for you.”

He scowled at this, gesturing to her to continue explaining. 

As though she needed his permission.

  
“The showcase’s not till May 8th, right?” Alice hardly waited for him to nod before continuing, “That’s what, fifteen weeks of working together? Fifteen rehearsals of wearing them down to the point where they’ll be broken with only a month before their wedding? I knew someone was bound to suggest forming a faculty group, I just didn’t think it’d take _that_ long…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Suffice to say, Beryl was definitely right when she said that Alice would've planned to act like this whether or not they'd missed that first meeting.
> 
> Also, now that we've unveiled each of the main plot points for this story, **it's time for that** previously mentioned **proposition!**
> 
> Since I can't begin to describe how much all of your support has meant to me this last year, I would like to show that thanks through the story. So, **what would** **you** **like to see more of?**
> 
> And if you need any ideas, **here are some possible options** :
> 
> **\- More Wedding Planning** (Looking back at things Chelsie would've already done, seeing what else is left to plan, etc.)
> 
> **\- More Musical Theatre happenings** (rehearsals, student drama, focusing on specific students, learning more about the musicals themselves, etc.)
> 
> **\- More Carlisle Octet drama/bonding** (Mary versus Penelope, how they could all get over that, etc.)
> 
> **\- More Faculty drama/bonding** (Does it all work out, does Alice win in the end, etc.)
> 
> **\- Something else altogether**
> 
> You can request one, you can request multiple –– the point is, _**I would really love to hear what you would like to see.**_ Because this series and the depths its reached has definitely been thanks to you.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed getting some answers about Alice and that you have a lovely day!


	8. February Favours and Sharp Shocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Now, just because we've got a plotter in the background does not mean we can't have a little wedding-planning fun and some inspiring teaching!

**Thursday, the 6th of February, 2020**

**12:05 p.m.**

They were basking in the unusual sunniness of the February day, the world beginning to open up when it came to the possibilities of spring. Traces of ease flickered through the windows, warming the pair of women to the idea that these next few months could be much less stressful than anticipated. Auditions were winding down as a whole, including this week's –– practically everyone who was interested in these last opportunities had stepped up to the plate.

Which mean the teachers could, with a great sigh of relief, finally return to other priorities.

"So, you mean you _finally_ figured out the party favours?"

Elsie chuckled at her friend's silly antics, handing over the wedding's guest book over at the silent request –– delighted that they'd finally decided on one to purchase. She and Charles had had a sweet date spent in various shops, looking for just the _right_ guest book as well as narrowing down the potential party favours. The former had taken a few hours to find –– a lovely little shop offering to customize their book for a decent price –– whereas the ideas for the latter struck them only thirty minutes into that evening.

"Well, we decided that we really couldn't come to a decision." Beryl nodded at this, having already heard this part, "But there's one thing that we both enjoy: tea."

"So?"

"So, once the auditions are over,"

"Which we've almost made it through all of them now!"

Ignoring her friend's good-natured quip, "We'll go over all the white mugs back in our flat,"

"You sure you'll be able to concentrate?" Beryl spoke far too cheekily for Elsie's taste, the implications about the engaged couple being far too obvious.

"Do you want to hear the rest of the plan or not?"

"'Course I do!"

The Scot shot her friend a look before deciding to finally humour the redhead's curiosity, "So, once the auditions are complete, we'll have the time to take a permanent marker to those mugs and write out the music notes for our favourite songs as well as the lyrics!"

Songs like "Dashing Away", "Somewhere", "O Holy Night", "Water Night" –– these would only be a few of the pieces referenced. A few measures of music would be written on one side, penned in a simple enough style it wouldn't overwhelm. And on the other side of the mug, the lyrics of that section would be written out. Some mugs would only get lyrics, some only the music notes. But, however it all worked out, it was the first time that Elsie was looking forward to her party favours.

"Won't that take a lot of work?" Beryl did think the concept sweet, but that it'd take a fair amount of time.

"Well, the wedding's not for another four months. Besides," She continued to knowingly speak, sending her another pointed look, "We'll have help."

"Becky's coming to town soon?" Beryl pulled out her phone's calendar, checking it over. "Oh, perfect! We've still got those trial runs for hair and make-up next Saturday, the timing should be perfect!"

"Becky'll be there for the trial-runs, but she won't be able to help with the mugs."

"Who else is gonna help, then?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a certain band director who's also serving as my Maid of Honour."

Having made Becky her Matron of Honour while Beryl was her Maid was the best way to give them the honour she thought they deserved. And though the two women were the only ones to be in her bridal party, nobody minded.

Suddenly realizing just who the Scot was talking about, "Oh! Oh, I thought we already knew I'd be helping with this!"

"Did we now?"

"Oh, now you're the only being cheeky!"

The two women busted up into snickers and chortles at this, having needed the laugh. And, glancing about the empty room –– Beryl had sent Charles out to go talk to the administrators so the two of them could talk just them –– the band director remembered another curiosity she had.

"I still can't believe you decided to go with a small ensemble over picking a duet. I like _Into the Woods_ as much as the next person, but it's not an easy piece. And, opening those auditions to the whole choirs instead of just your Concert Choir bunch –– has the phrase 'taking it easy' ever struck either of your minds?"

"You say that all you want, Beryl, but we're already sorting out all of those auditions –– we're not changing a thing."

"Well, I suppose it's not as bad as agreeing to work with Alice for the showcase! I still can't believe you agreed to that."

"It's not as though we had that much of a choice…"

_._

**12:41 p.m.**

"Are you looking for Mr. Carson?"

Linda already knew that this was the only reason Mary Crawley would be persuaded to come up here during her lunch period. As of late, the soprano had retreated from auditions and singing as a whole. Ever since she didn't get a part in _Drowsy Chaperone_ , one of the last Concert Choir auditions for the semester, the eldest Crawley daughter had grown indifferent to singing. The dark-haired beauty continued to rehearse her individual solo and she never missed the class rehearsals.

But she'd withdrawn. She sang only what was necessary and nothing more. She didn't put additional enthusiasm into her performance, and it was showing. And while Linda didn't think the soprano should be coddled when it came to auditioning, she didn't want the young woman to turn away from music because of this experience.

"I am." Mary coolly responded, polite if distant, "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"Mr. Carson should be back in a few minutes," Upon being kicked out–– sent away from 403 so Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes could chat for a bit, he'd decided to listen to the band director's advice and update the admin on their musical theatre efforts.

"I'll wait then." The young soprano informed the assistant, choosing to take a seat near the front of the classroom –– content to ignore Linda whilst she waited for the choir director.

As they sat in as amiable a silence as they could, the teaching assistant couldn't help but think back to her observations of the young soprano this week. How she'd seem more detached from the proceedings as a whole, something that didn't need to her attitude toward musical theatre or singing.

"I know my opinion probably doesn't mean anything to you, but I think you should keep trying."

Mary haughtily glanced in her direction, "'Keep trying', Miss Vance?"

Linda should've rolled her eyes at the attempt to be like the choir director. But the older woman knew where the attitude was coming from and had no desire to feed into the negativity.

"Solos. You should keep trying to audition for solos." _There's not that many left, as it stands._

"Oh? And why is that?"

The assistant knew that the soprano was humouring her. That she'd probably walk away having ignored any piece of advice given. Still, if Linda said her piece, then she didn't have to keep wondering if she did enough.

"Because if you only try when you have a guarantee of success, you don't actually get anywhere."

Mary looked away at this, highly unimpressed by not only the corny advice but also the assumption that she wasn't trying because she wasn't guaranteed anything. Flipping through the pages of her choir binder –– every student needed one black 3" binder with which to practice with, a container for all of their music –– she perused the contents of the only song available for auditioning.

"Well, I've no interest in 'Once'. And I hardly doubt I'd even want to be successful with 'Into the Woods' if it meant playing the role of _Cinderella_ ," Mary said with distaste, recalling the plot of that musical quite easily. She had no interest in Little Red, not needing to stuff her face with biscuits and the likes on stage, if ever. Moreover, the Baker's Wife hardly appealed to her, seeming to be a minor character in the grand scheme. And, furthermore, since she never cared for fairy tales like Cinderella, why bother?

"I think 'Children Will Listen' could be right up your alley."

Linda left it at that, noticing the disdain Mary had been clutching these last few minutes finally faltered. Her gaze remained aloofly pointed in another direction, but something has shifted within her posture as she continued to think the matter over.

Now, it would take Mr. Carson only another minute or two to make his way back up the steps. But when he finally did, he'd be very surprised by what he found. That would be because, upon returning to 402, he would discover that Mary Crawley had a request for him –– something besides another rehearsal working on her full-length solo, that is.

It was a request the young woman didn't make until they'd been left alone, finally speaking up only once they'd taken one of the nearby practice rooms. And seeing as how his favourite Crawley daughter looked to have given up on auditioning, he'd been astonished to hear her request just that:

One audition for the small ensemble piece.

_._

**Friday, the 7th of February, 2020**

**7:16 a.m.**

"'Oh, Linda,'" The teaching assistant muttered to herself, unaware that she had an audience watching her step into the hallway of the second fourth floor, "'You should have the privilege of pinning up the callback list this time.' More like, I should have the chance to face the vultu–– Camellia!"

Camellia Botterill did not spend twenty-six minutes of her time on this floor just to hear the teaching assistant start complaining about her unpaid job. She spent twenty-six minutes of her entirely too precious time on this floor to find out if she got a callback for "I Could Have Danced All Night".

Which, if she was right, the answer to that question was only a few feet away.

" _Entirely_ ridiculous!" The blonde proclaimed, having snatched the paper out of the assistant's hands before the woman taped it up, scanning the document for herself. "Maribel Diaz got a callback and _I_ didn't?! And who are all these other people?"

Little did Camellia know, acting so childishly was only going to reinforce the idea that she _didn't_ deserve a solo. In fact, had she stayed a little longer, she would have witnessed Miss Vance sighing in disappointment to herself at the behaviour before pinning the paper to the wall, next to all the other prior auditions.

And, had she the Bel Canto singer spent another thirty seconds nearby, she would have the pleasure of witnessing another interesting exchange. She would have watched the teaching assistant brighten a little at a name on the list, remarking, "At least some divas decide to change."

_._

**4:41 p.m.**

Francesca Barnes had forgotten how regal the auditorium of Downton Academy truly was. Carlisle's was quite suitable in itself, the space having been sketched with the finest consideration. Both were spacious enough, though Downton's 2,000 capacity did outstretch _any_ of the six schools in the Yorkshire county. Yet one detail that she found to be even more captivating than the size was the atmosphere.

Carlisle's auditorium held an atmosphere of aloof grandeur.

Downton's, for all the clear grandeur it held, was far more welcoming.

"Everyone," Anthony had finally made it, being the last of the group to make it. "I'd like you to meet––"

"Lila Webb of the Royal Choristers," Francesca finished with more than a hint of awe, having recognized the retired choir director from the moment the elderly woman stepped foot in the room. "It is an honour."

"I'm glad you think so," Lila Webb coldly smiled at the group, inclining her head, "I admit: I'm curious to see what talent we'll be working with today, Anthony has told me much about your situation, much indeed."

"Has he now?" Alice smoothly inserted herself into the conversation, staring in the direction of Strallan's head choir director. The man in question merely nodded in response, looking to be perfectly at ease with the situation in spite of the newfound attention. "And how did you two cross paths?"

"Lila is an old friend of mine. For those who don't know, she was the director of the Royal Choristers for many seasons, an _a cappella_ group that has rightfully obtained many accolades over the years."

Everyone respectfully looked on at the woman, knowing who the Royal Choristers and knowing the privilege they were receiving today with her presence.

"Now, I'm sure that you already feel as though you know who should sing what." Lila imperially began, casting an eye about the room. "However, I can assure that whatever you believe you know to correct is most likely not. Now, if you will all be so kind as to divide yourself between the parts that have been decided and the parts that have not."

Elsie stood with Francesca, Beryl and Linda to one side of the room while the others moved to the other side. There was a little wariness in their step as they moved to divide themselves, something about the woman's tone sounding decidedly off. However, there was no reason to behave disrespectfully just because something sounded suspect.

"Thank you. And what parts did you believe you were to be singing?"

"Elsie was planning on singing lead, Linda tenor, I was going to do bass and Phoebe was going to sing baritone." Beryl succinctly explained, easily matching the older woman's inquisitive stare.

"I see." Lila apparently concluded something by the end of that comment because she was already turning away from the trio. "Let's work with the others first and then we'll re-sort you four afterwards." Turning around to face the other individuals in the room, the woman strode over to them and gestured for them to join her at the on-stage piano - leaving the quartet to watch from their seats.

"Well, isn't this quite the 'privilege'?" The band director complained, not looking to be terribly impressed with the prestigious woman currently conducting the show.

And, frankly, she wasn't the only one.

_._

**4:56 p.m.**

Charles Carson hadn't been terribly surprised when he'd been chosen to sing bass for the men's section of this little _a cappella_ group. Nor had he been overly shocked by Charlie, once again, being chosen to sing lead.

"Just like old times, eh, Charlie?" The Center's choir director blithely spoke as though the last twenty years or so of drama hadn't occurred. As though the last real conversation the two directors had engaged in hadn't been tersely discussing the death of their mentor.

"I think not." Downton's own choir director prayed for patience as Mrs. Webb left the pair alone to decide who of the two remaining men would be singing baritone and tenor. Walking off to the side of the stage, he glanced in the direction of his fiancée as he tried to shake off his former colleague's attention. Alice's manipulations, Mrs. Webb's frosty attitude, and Grigg's unnecessary remarks were trying his strength.

"Ah, come on! Before us Cheerful Charlies came to a close, you liked singing in a quartet!" Grigg's protest was louder than it needed to be, garnering more attention than Charles would've liked as it gleefully bounced about the entire auditorium.

"Wait a minute –– 'quartet'?" Leave it to Beryl Patmore who, in a fit of growing boredom, latched onto this tidbit of information with as much vigour as she could. "What do you mean 'quartet'?"

"If you're going to interrupt this process by chattering away in the corner," Lila primly informed them, "You ought to wait outside in the hallway until I am ready to voice your new parts."

Not needing anymore reason to delay from escaping the atmosphere of auditorium, Beryl took an unabashed hold of the conversation –– gesturing for Elsie, Linda, Phoebe to join her as she unceremoniously beckoned for Charles and Charlie to join her on her way to the hallway.

"Right." Beryl began after closing the door to the auditorium, pleased to have something novel to talk about. "What's this I hear about a quartet called the 'Cheerful Charlies'?"

Elsie sighed in disbelief at her friend's antics, not wanting to cause her fiancée anymore stress, "Beryl, you know as well as I what Charles' opinion of _a cappella_ was last fall _._ Even if he were in a quartet, it wouldn't have to be an _a cappella_ quartet."

This didn't look to be reassuring her man.

Quite the contrary, actually.

"Oh, we can tell the truth, can't we, Charlie? There's no harm in remembering the past." Grigg said with an oily grin, sleazily beaming at Elsie in particular as he nudged his old friend with his elbow. "A quartet of brothers, that's what we were. And good ol' Eddie was the one who got it started, the lucky bas-"

"We may have been a quartet but we were _not_ brothers." Glaring at the man, "And you will kindly respect Edmund Purpoyle's good name by _not_ speaking about him in that fashion."

"Relax, Charlie––"

The choir director glowered at the man's casual manner, more displeased than ever before.

"But that can't be right." Beryl wondered aloud, "Besides, you've never mentioned it before now."

Well, this only seemed to fuel the malicious fire that was Charlie Grigg.

"Charlie, must you break my heart like this by keeping our quartet a secret? I would've hoped at least your fiancée knew about this! Wasn't that what brought you two lovebirds together? It had to have been, why else would––"

"Mr. Grigg" Elsie rigidly cut in before anything else could be said, leaping back to formality in order to shut the man up. "What my fiancé has or has not informed me of is of no concern to you."

"Oh, I see." Backing away with a bit of a smirk, enjoying the fact that he held all the cards for once, "Well, we were brothers back then, Charlie, whether you like it or not."

"But, I thought the story was that you'd never sung _a cappella_ music before last fall, that you never cared for the genre…." Phoebe immediately regretted speaking once she saw two pairs of dark glares directed in her direction, the sight frightening enough to stop her from making any further inquiry.

"Oh, I bet that's what you think-"

"Charlie," The man nearly growled, glaring at his former friend before collecting himself and looking at his fiancée with more than slight hesitation. "I'm afraid that you're actually wrong about that, Ms. Mil- Phoebe." It seemed the choir director of Downton had temporarily given up on formalities, seeing what the subject was.

"What do you mean, Mr. Car- Charles?" It looked like shock was starting to take over her capacity to think the matter through, the woman stumbling in her thoughts.

"He means that we were all in a barbershop quartet back in the day," Grigg cheekily explained, purposefully oblivious to her surprise. "In fact, us 'Cheerful Charlies' did quite well for ourselves, won competitions and everything."

"Really?" "No way!" "Charles, is that true?"

"Lila's ready for you all now," Alice had taken it upon herself to open the door when it was time for the group to come back. "If you would be so kind as to follow me."

"Of course she is," Beryl grumbled to herself, having wanted to hear more.

_._

**4:57 p.m.**

As she was being ushered back into the auditorium, Elsie couldn't help the confusion weighing down on her. She wasn't angry or upset with Charles per se, but she was shocked by this unexpected part to his past. It did make her wonder why he acted the way he did last fall as well as why he'd never told her himself about this. Add to that the fact that her original plan was being chucked aside for something that she really didn't want to involve herself in, and the choir teacher couldn't help the disconcertion that currently distracted her.

"Right. Phoebe, Linda, Elsie, why don't I go first?" The Scot somehow caught this request over her rampant thoughts, barely. But before she could disagree, she felt herself being guided to an auditorium seat as they waited to be individually voiced.

"Elsie," Charles softly murmured in concern, "I know you have questions and I promise I'll explain everything later."

"Quiet, please," Lila curtly instructed as she continued working with Beryl to see the band director's singing range. The older woman had the redhead running through various parts of the same barbershop tag in order to get an idea of what her range was. "Unless you'd rather call this whole thing off."

The teachers fell silent at the rebuke. However, it wasn't fraught with the gloomy tension that Charles had been anticipating. In fact, even though Elsie was remaining silent, when there was a chance to respond, she took it.

Discreetly leaning into him, the woman quietly reassured that, "It's all right. I trust you'll tell me when you're ready."

_Thank God_.

The Cheerful Charlies had been a part of his past he'd had no desire to revisit anytime soon. That Charlie had tactlessly brought it up today should have been anticipated, but Downton's choral director had foolishly believed otherwise.

Luckily, whatever else, it really did seem like Elsie was fine with waiting for him to explain himself before making any judgments about the , that didn't mean she wasn't surprised and unsure of what exactly was going on. Something that even he could tell, having known the woman for more than a year.

Which really meant that he could only thank God for so long.

If anything, that actually _really_ meant he had to make a phone-call the moment he could.

"Beryl, you will either bass to start with. Please prepare yourself accordingly by sight-reading and memorizing the appropriate part for this tag while I listen to Phoebe." Charles watched as Elsie looked up in faint bemusement, the pair observing the interaction as Lila continued, "As I've mentioned while you were outside, the women will sing as a group once I've approximated their vocal ranges and we will adjust everyone from there."

With that, all of a sudden it was Phoebe's turn to belt out a few notes and discover that she'd probably be either lead or baritone in this arrangement. And as she walked off to join the rest of the women who were already voiced, Linda taking her place, it became clear that Elsie would only have a few more moments before she'd be required to sing.

"If you would make your way to the piano, Elsie." Lila Webb beckoned his fiancée to come to the piano, the Scottish woman pushing herself to her feet as if it were a normal occurrence to be bossed around in their own auditorium. But, pushing aside his own irritation at the situation, Charles tried to think about something, knowing that anger was pointless.

Forcing his mind to cast his thoughts in another direction, he thought about Elsie's current audition and managed to change his focus: the more he thought about it, the more he became distracted with the realization that she hadn't been voiced in years –– having not done anything Joe passed.

And, suddenly, he found himself more than a little curious as to how this would go.

Within seconds Elsie was running through the tenor section of "Sleepytime", managing the tricky half-step in notes the others couldn't quite catch. Soon she was stepping into the lead's part, mustering up the necessary enthusiasm without too much effort.

Once his fiancée did that, Lila then requested she go over the baritone part. Baritone was difficult for the woman to switch to, but she got by decently –– endearingly struggling to be as perfect as she'd been with the other two. Still, soon enough Elsie was asked to dip into the bass' line of notes, much to his surprise. Beryl and Phoebe had only been asked to sing three different parts before being given their tailored instructions, though he didn't know what the case had been for the others.

"I see your range's reputation holds true." Lila had remarked to herself, surprising all three Downton teachers with that comment. Charles was proud that someone as well-known as Lila Webb knew of Elsie, Beryl was bewildered as to why her friend wasn't being treated more respectfully if that recognition were that case, and Elsie was just confused that her reputation preceded her in this instance.

"Which part would you like me to begin memorizing?"

The older woman shrewdly looked at his fiancée after she said this, causing Charles to feel perturbed and on-edge on Elsie's behalf. It wasn't as though any of this was a terribly big deal. Still, with the way Mrs. Webb was staring down his colleague in consternation, he couldn't help but feel the urge to interrupt the moment.

"Start with just baritone." Without another word of explanation, Mrs. Webb summoned the five other women over to the piano so that they could properly begin this part of the rehearsal.

"For this round, this is what I want you to try 'Sleepytime' in this order," In order of who had come over, the woman drilled out their instructions for this round of voicing, "Beryl and Phoebe, bass; Alice, Joyce and Francesca, lead; Elsie, baritone; Linda, tenor."

A pitch pipe sharply rang out right on cue, the noise startling almost everyone in the room. It looked like Alice was getting ahead of the game by making sure she had a pitch pipe on hand, the woman withholding a smirk as she nodded at Lila and continued to blow the appropriate pitch.

"Everyone ready?" The grey-eyed teacher coyly asked her fellow singers, a smile painted upon her lips as she met everyone's gaze.

"Shouldn't we refresh our notes to make sure we're starting on the right pitches?" Beryl asked, more than a little put-out by _Alice_ of all people taking charge.

"I didn't realize you forgot 'Sleepy Time' starts on the same note for everyone, Beryl." Alice responded in kind, blowing the pitch once more. "Now, are we ready?"

Each woman in question politely nodded, not caring for the attitude. And waiting for their two leads to cue them all in at the appropriate time, they proceeded to work with the tag at hand:

" _When it's Sleepytime down South,"_

It was technically sound, each woman a good enough sight-reader that she knew her part fairly well without requiring extra rehearsal. Yet, Charles could hear that it wasn't _right_. Although each singer had the appropriate range for her respective part, their individual attitudes toward singing didn't blend well with one another. They also weren't matching vowel shapes or genuinely listening to one another for timing, something that was not a good omen….

_._

**5:13 p.m.**

"Yes, that's the most effective order we're going to get with you six." Lila dryly informed them, nodding to herself. The women looked at each other, each taking in the situation with their own thoughts on the matter.

To the far left of the group, Linda stood in the role of tenor. On the other end of unorthodox half-circle, Francesca held onto the part of baritone. Elsie stood to the left of the Carlisle Institute director, having been selected to sing bass alongside Beryl. Taking on the part of lead, Alice, Joyce and Phoebe took their spots in-between Joyce and Beryl.

In short, it had all felt utterly wrong in the eyes of one Charles Carson. He personally would have reduced the group by at least one, unceremoniously kicking Alice out of the picture. Then, he would have righted the wrong that was Elsie _not_ singing lead. He'd possibly tweak the placement of the other parts, but those were the essential bits of injustice he would have handled.

Yes, the choir director was awfully bias about the whole thing.

And, yes, he could also admit that this was the best technical set-up for the six voices at hand, being the formation that brought forth the most harmony. It was only at this point that the woman had begun to start sounding as though they were singing together, instead of just six soloists with different parts.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean he liked any of it.

"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind to join us?" Knowing that this was a command not a request, Charles quickly joined the rest of his colleagues as the half-circle widened to an impossible degree.

"Now, to check the balance and general positioning as a whole, we'll run through 'Sleepytime' once again. This time, it'll be in the men's key. Which means, ladies, you will have to adjust accordingly…"

_._

**3:26 p.m. CST** / **9:26 p.m. GMT**

"So," She glanced up at the sky, pleased that it'd been pleasant enough for her to step out of the school to take this call. With the winters as rough as they tended to be, any chance to breath in sunshine was welcomed. "What's going on, Charles?"

Considering the fact that February had been treating Chicago rather kindly, Clarissa Magnussen had no qualms about standing outside for a few minutes. Even if she did, she was far too much of a Midwestern to state as such.

" _Well,"_ The tinny reception that came with such long-distance calls didn't really matter as much as the fact that this was happening in the first place. It'd been a while since either Charles or Elsie had reached out, the last time being when they finally announced the date for the wedding. " _I'm afraid to say it's complicated,"_

"Oh, now you've gotta tell me everything!" She felt a swell of gratitude that the man was entrusting her with something complicated, knowing how much of a private person he was at heart. It was a step up from their first encounter all those months ago, and it only made her want to prove she was worthy of that trust.

" _Right. You've got to promise you won't go all American on me when I tell you this next bit…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** We do love our helpful Americans!
> 
> Now, before I sign off for the night, I just wanted to say that something's come up over here which will require me to stop everything for a bit (hopefully only about a week, if not a little longer).
> 
> That being said, **I will definitely return** to this story (as well as HLSHLD). Nothing's being abandoned. I just have to take care of something first.
> 
> In any case, as always, I hope you've enjoyed this and have a lovely day!


	9. Sweet and Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Author Note:**_ Thank you once again for your patience and continued support with this little story. We're going to briefly detour from wedding planning and the likes, but I assure you that it'll all come back to the forefront after this chapter.
> 
> **_Note for "Her Little Secret, His Little Dream" fans:_** I definitely have not forgotten you, nor am I abandoning that story! In fact, I should have the _final_ chapter up and ready in just a few days!
> 
> _**Disclaimer:**_ I don't know own _Downton_ or any of the songs referenced!
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

**Thursday, the 13th of February, 2020 - 12:37 p.m.**

They were out in the courtyard as per his request, the choir director informing Linda that she was perfectly capable of working with any soloists who dropped by. As it stood, he wouldn't be able to work with anyone on anything related to music –– not when he still needed to explain everything.

What should've been explained more than a year ago if not a few months ago had been swept under the rug by him yet again. And though Elsie had been terribly understanding –– to the point where she'd explicitly, repeatedly told him she didn't need to know anything until he was ready to talk about it –– he felt this was much too important to delay.

Luckily, Clar had consistently called him back to not only hear the whole story out but also advise him on how to manage it. Which had led to this moment, a distressing scene wherein the air was doing its best to replicate a disorienting _tremolo_. Nevertheless, that was how it was always going to be. And, so, after trying to regain his bearings once more, Charles was ready to at least try give this conversation a go.

"Elsie, I am _so_ sorry for not having said anything before." At the time, omitting this part of his past hadn't felt like a lie. It'd only felt like he was protecting himself, avoiding the shame of it all by never bringing this up. It was only now, in light of Charlie Grigg's crass attitude, that the choir director realized he could have handled this better. That he found he _should_ have handled this better.

"It's all right, Charles." He exhaled in relief at the empathetic tone, trying his best to set aside his nerves and hear her out, "I can understand not wanting to share something that clearly bothered you. But, what I don't get is why you pretended to be so indifferent to _a cappella_ music in the first place. As though you'd never come across it, never sung it before."

That stung, rightfully so.

"I can't really explain it," _Acting foolishly comes to mind._ But, he didn't need to voice the word he knew she'd inherently disagree with. "I suppose I'd been too ashamed of my past to risk voicing it."

"So, the more I pressed the more I made you uncomfortable?" Elsie prodded carefully, feeling more than one pang of regret over the matter. Sure, it had all ended well. And, sure, they'd been different people then. Their relationship hadn't been anything like it was today, that much was obvious. That didn't take away her guilt over the subject. That didn't take away the fact that she'd probably pushed him to do too much, undoubtedly having forced him to trust her much sooner than he was ready to.

"Well, not exactly..."

__.__

_**Thursday, the 6th of September, 2018 - 7:48 a.m.** _

_"Heavens, no, I'm not interested in creating a Glee Club, Mr. Carson. I'm simply interested in enriching the lives of our charges with an_ a cappella _sound." He had looked up in dismay at the rebuttal, sensing more was on the way. Elsie Hughes was proving to be quite the match when it came to choir-related matters; if she managed to change her tune and adjust to Downton's traditional way of life, he'd honestly appreciate such verve in his classes. Not that he'd be telling her that anytime soon- oh, wait, she hadn't finished her thought. Best let her get it all off her chest:_

_"Besides, the ladies are picking up the pace rather well, surely they can handle learning a few more songs."_

_Ignoring the flashes of memory that piqued at her words, shoving aside the sounds of his own rehearsals picking the songs up, unending rehearsals dedicated to this particular genre, "Yes, well, regardless of how well the ladies are picking up their pieces, Mrs. Hughes, I simply must protest. I have found in my time that_ a cappella _music really is just Glee Clubs and a scandalous attempt at sound that is somehow allowed to reign free in the world. So, you'll forgive me if I don't put much stock into what you're planning to get the Advanced ladies –– of all singers –– involved with."_

_Having turned his back to her at this, Charles managed to successfully shove away any further hints of that indecent past of his. Though, leave it to Mrs. Butte's unorthodox replacement to continue to press the matter, unsatisfied with giving up._

_"Did you not approve of the Masters of Harmony when I played them for the ladies?"_

_Dismissing the old quell of adoration that had risen within him at that particular chorus - Masters of Harmony had been around since the mid-80s and that particular performance of theirs in 1999 had caught his attention at the time._

_Yet, those days of performing barbershop were long past him, having been wrapped up and set aside for more than twenty years. And while he may have once had a slight inclination of appreciation for the craft, he would not allow that inclination to utterly destroy his choral department. There would be no explosions of egos or demands to rise to be the very best, no wild machinations brought about by a desire to win everything._

_Especially not when it only resulted in everything falling apart at the last minute._

_So, perhaps there had been approval for Masters. Perhaps, it hadn't just been his personal rules that had stopped him from interrupting that video and stopping that inspiring arrangement in its tracks. Perhaps, it had been the recognition that'd come with hearing the piece as he stood right outside 403. Perhaps, it had been the fact that everyone in the room had carried that sense of absolute awe he himself had once held over the sound._

_That didn't mean he was willing or able to admit as such._

_"I'm not at all sure of what you mean."_

_It was a lie._

_And he wasn't oblivious to the fact that she saw right through it._

_But Charles felt a sense of great deal of gratuity that she didn't press the matter._

_"Surely there's something you've come across, in your many years of_ choral expertise _," He was blissfully ignorant to her acerbic tone because the only thing coming to mind was the taste of a memory long-since forgotten. "That didn't sound like a 'scandalous attempt at sound'?"_

_The choir director didn't want to do this. Not now, and not with this woman who was still very much a stranger. For all he knew, she was only interested in winning the prizes and parading about in a superficiality most unwelcomed._

_For all he knew, she was absolutely indifferent to the craft itself._

_"I'm afraid there's nothing I can recall, Ms. Hughes. Nothing at all."_

_Perhaps now she'd leave the matter well alone._

__.__

**Thursday, the 13th of February, 2020 - 12:40 p.m.**

"You mean to tell me that you were never cross with me? That you didn't object to my bullying you around when it came to the choirs?" He stared at her in horror when as she spoke, not realizing that this was how she felt about the matter.

"I'd never put it like that, Elsie!"

"Then, how exactly would you put it, Charles?"

He'd really need to explain himself and fast, "Well…"

_._

_**Monday, the 10th of September, 2018 - 11:37 a.m.** _

_"Mr. Carson, I do believe that there has to be something in the_ a cappella _realm that would meet even your standards of repertoire."_

_They'd been basking in a silence he'd only just become comfortable with. But now, having been taken aback by the unexpected subject, Charles pushed down any feelings that came with thoughts of 'the_ a cappella _realm' as quickly as he could and focused on deflecting._

_"I'm afraid I still can think of nothing Mrs. Hughes."_

_An absolute lie, but if he was continually reminded of Grigg and the others when he thought of anything remotely related to_ a cappella _, then how could he dare to subject his choirs to such a thing? No, the best thing would be to feign ignorance and carry on with the status quo. Mrs. Hughes would be leaving in less than fifteen weeks, after all. And when Mrs. Butte returned she would be quick to remind him how smart he'd been to avoid such a catastrophe._

_"What if I find something within your own music library that could potentially meet such standards?"_

_Having taken a moment to pause in his administrative tasks, the man squarely met the pressing stare of his colleague without hesitation. It seemed she was quite determined, much to his irritation._

_"If you can find even one piece in this library that even Mrs. Crawley would approve of,_ and _have it approved by the end of this week, I will consider allowing you the opportunity to perform that song."_

_It would be impossible to convince Violet Crawley to agree to anything, let alone something as audacious as that. Thus, he had successfully put a stop to that ridiculous subject and they could now move on in life. Gregorian chants and the likes were one thing; what Mrs. Hughes had to have in mind was undoubtedly nothing of the kind._

_"That's hardly a true consideration, let alone a fair guarantee, Mr. Carson."_

_So much for her letting the matter go._

_"Nothing in life is fair or even a guarantee, Mrs. Hughes." Which was a statement he was content to stick by until he caught sight of those sudden slits of vexation that had once been her eyes. "Though, if Mrs. Crawley did approve, I'd also be willing to let you have free reign over selecting any other songs you'd like to incorporate._

_It wouldn't hurt to at least give the woman the sense that she'd tried her very best._

_And, this way, it'd only take her a few weeks to get over the matter instead of the entire semester –– a thought that did_ _**not** _ _need to ever be considered._

__.__

**Thursday, the 13th of February, 2020 - 12:41 p.m.**

"Well," Charles repeated, faintly smiling despite the circumstances, "At the beginning of it all, I'd been bewildered, thrown off balance by the whole thing. And though I was desperate to avoid facing my past, having been terrified the moment you mentioned _a cappella_ , none of that changed my thoughts about you."

"And just what were those thoughts at the time?"

The man almost chuckled before realizing that this was undoubtedly an unsuitable time to do so.

"Well?"

"My thoughts at the time had been something along the line of, 'My goodness, she's a force to be reckoned with. If she can show an appreciation for what we're doing here at Downton, I can only imagine what we could do these next thirteen weeks."

"Really?"

"Really. That, and I also realized that underestimating your tenacity would be making a grave error."

Her chuckles, reminiscent of an entirely different day, reverberated effortlessly 'round the courtyard, "Did you now?"

His eyes twinkled at this, the elaboration flowing much more now.

_._

_**Friday, the 28th of September, 2018 - 12:41 p.m.** _

_So much for never considering any further_ a cappella _efforts._

_"Mrs. Hughes, I can assure you that I will drop by at some point in the future. I'm just not sure if my ears are quite up to the task just yet."_

_She was not doing this out of spite, the choir director did recognize that. He just couldn't help but wonder how and why this happened. How he'd wound up agreeing to this, how he'd allow himself to think that Elsie Hughes would've dropped the subject. And why, for that matter, did he have to be subjected to all of this shame after so many years?_

_Except, there wasn't as much shame this time around._

_Not when she was there._

_Oddly enough, there was something about her character, about the way that she was approaching this situation, that felt different enough for him to want to hand over some semblance of trust. Something was stirring within him, something that he couldn't quite classify just yet. But something was slowly wiping away those troubling memories of Grigg, and replacing them with recollections of banter in 402. Something was gradually brushing off his indignation over this issue being rehashed and substituting that indignation for a faint curiosity. There was now a_ crescendo _of intrigue as to what the woman was going to attempt to pull off, a_ crescendo _he found himself wanting to witness more of._

_So, when William Mason later asked him why he wouldn't just give this new choir a listen... Charles may have officially taken the coward's way out but his heart had long since started to understand the truth._

_And when their little_ a cappella _bunch stood gathered at the start of their next rehearsal, he knew he was witnessing something quite different than what his past had been. He also realized he didn't have to battle against his colleague's efforts. For he was beginning to understand that her efforts, as unorthodox as they were, actually ran through the same veins of sound his did._

_His just happened to include piano accompaniment._

__.__

**Thursday, the 13th of February, 2020 - 12:43 p.m.**

"You see, Elsie, although I'd been afraid of facing it all again, I was beginning to understand just how much I could, how much I _can_ , trust you."

She wasn't fully convinced, remembering fully well how much of a fight he'd put up at the time, "My, my. And just when did this understanding come?"

However, this was not an answer he was going to humour: "You know very well when it did."

_._

_**Wednesday, the 3rd of October, 2018 - 3:41 p.m.** _

"Dashing away with the smoothing iron,

She stole my heart away!"

_Charles had never been so relieved to be wrong than in that moment. And when he'd finally realized that the song had come to an end, there was nothing that could possibly stop him from enthusiastically conveying his approval._

" _Thank you, Mr. Carson," As she turned around to him, a blush dancing in her eyes while her demeanour radiated delight, he couldn't help the swell of appreciation that overcame him. It'd been years since he'd come across another musician who was genuinely interested in the choral craft to the extent wherein they'd orchestrate such efforts._

_And, for that matter, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this enchanted with the_ a cappella _art-form. Edmund, his mentor, had always carried on with his own singing and coaching efforts over the years, true, always bent on inspiring others to keep on singing. But other than the occasional invitation to an event outside of Yorkshire, there'd been very little reason to even think about this genre - much to Charles' relief at the time._

_Yet, now? Now that he stood in the face of a brilliant conductor and a rousing choir comprised of his own students?_

" _No, Mrs. Hughes," Charles proudly spoke the words with great pleasure, smiling more than he had in quite some time, "Thank you."_

_._

**Thursday, the 13th of February, 2020 - 12:46 p.m.**

"Charles?"

The man blinked, having not realized how much those memories impacted him all this time. So much of their early working relationship had been shaped by his running away and trying to stop her efforts. Perhaps if he'd set aside his fears and learned to trust her much sooner, it might not have taken them six months to understand their feelings. Of course, yes, that entire situation was far more complicated than either of them had realized at the time. What with his personal ghosts of the _a cappella_ past and her husband haunting many of her steps last fall, they hadn't been ready for the possibilities.

Still, things could have been different to say the least….

"Charles?" Elsie repeated, ensuring his attention with this particular attempt. Ghosts of the past and glorious memories may have been flitting around his mind for the last few minutes, but he couldn't remain stuck there. He needed to be with her right here and now.

"I'm here, love." He informed her, having managed to escape the path his thoughts had been wandering. "Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"Well," She began to speak once more, "I suppose I've only one real question for you."

He nodded, "Go on."

"Well," This looked to be difficult for the woman to ask but she eventually ventured, "Charles, was there _any_ part of your past you liked? Any part of your _a cappella_ experiences you enjoyed before you met me?"

Elsie sounds unusually withdrawn with this inquiry, as though expecting to hear the worst. And, perhaps, seeing as how he has withheld this information from the very beginning, it's to be expected she feels such.

It all only pushes him to really think about the memories, to really scrounge through his habitual ponderings and scan past the typical thoughts. Yes, Grigg's antics throughout the competitions and the rehearsals had greatly irritated him at the time. And, yes, the other Charlies that'd been in the group are no longer a part of his social circle for good reason.

But, Edmund Purpoyle had been there, too. That whole fiasco –– that finale filled with egos and unnecessary success –– was how he had been able to get closer to his lifetime mentor, how he'd been able to reach Downton Academy in the end. Had Mr. Purpoyle not been around to help coach the Cheerful Charlies, it's quite possible Charles would have never gained the confidence to strive for a position at Downton. Hell, he might not have even thought he could go for a position like choir director. And while other paths may have satisfied him before, Charles couldn't help but find himself quite grateful he'd had a mentor who had pushed him beyond that.

However, Mr. Purpoyle was a mentor and a friend, not the _a cappella_ genre itself. And, today, Charles doesn't feel that recalling a mentor is right for this conversation. While he has many fond memories involving the now deceased man, more of his recollections revolve around their conversations more so than their rehearsals.

Besides, now that he gives the matter more consideration, there are two specific memories coming to mind. Two very dear moments that he truly feels will convey the truth.

"Yes." Her gaze shoots upward toward him at this, surprise deeply etching itself into her skin - something that breaks his heart the more he takes in the sight. "Yes, there were two parts in particular I did rather like."

She doesn't dare to ask to know what's running through his mind, a _fermata_ of hesitation rooting itself in her thoughts. But, after a few minutes of silence, Elsie can't help but wonder what could possibly be resurfacing for her fiancé.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing them?" It's neutrally asked, striving to remain impartial in light of this newfound trust he's bestowing. That neutrality burns more than a sore throat. But her hesitation to pry does, once again, make sense when he considers what's brought them to this. He can only imagine what she must feel about all of this, can only hope that her trust in him hasn't been diminished by his own mistakes.

"Well, this one's probably a bit of a cliché, but I really did like the first time we ever locked a chord properly." Charles watches as a guarded smile creeps back into her gaze without her knowing, the unwitting movement encouraging. "I'm fairly certain it was 'Lily Marlene' when we'd finally gotten a tag right. Finally locked the chords, matched the vowels, and _performed._

"Even though it was quite a simple piece in the grand scheme of life, certainly nothing like what we perform at Downton today, there was something incredibly fulfilling about _finally_ hearing it as it was meant to be. Of course, I couldn't hear the overtones we'd maintained. But Edmund would always swear it'd all proudly rung for the whole world to hear.

"And then there was the night of our first real competition," She inadvertently inches closer to him, the walls brought on by confused wariness slowly beginning to crumble, much to his relief. However, crumbling does not imply they're gone. And, in all honesty, now that he recalls this other particular memory, he just has to share it with her. "We hadn't gotten all that far in that one. Honestly, I think we placed seventeenth out of twenty-three," Charles chuckles at this, able to find the situation far more amusing than he might've back then, "But the afterglow party afterwards is what convinced me to keep trying."

_Go on,_ he can hear her think, the woman already so taken with all of this that she doesn't want to interrupt. And in the courtyard, sitting here just the two of them, he feels safe enough to keep going.

"I'd been minding my own business, probably sulking more than anything, when Edmund had managed to rope me into joining a group singing pole-cats. I can't remember how exactly he'd done it, but there I was learning new - or, rather, classic - barbershop songs. Pieces like 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart' were, of course, hurled at me," She faintly snorts at this, the irony not escaping her, "But there was one in particular that had stolen my attention ever since. One that I'm grateful I never had to share with Charlie. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Was it 'My Wild Irish Rose'?" Elsie dryly teases, very much suspecting that's not the answer. Unsurprisingly, Charles only gives her an unimpressed look for such playful cheek even as his eyes smile knowingly in response.

"Although I think those lyrics are a little too vulgar for my taste, even if it had been that, I'd have to change it to 'My Wild _Scottish_ Rose' now." Then, blushing as he recalls a particular lyric that will definitely playfully haunt his thoughts until their wedding night, "But, no, it's not 'My Wild Irish Rose'."

"I see." Elsie finds a twinkle of mirth emerging within her at this suspense, waiting with bated breath to hear him speak of the piece in question. She does notice how taken he is with whatever he's recalling, that he does really seem to enjoy whatever's now coming to mind.

So, her initial guilt and pain about their first semester together fades a little. It's not entirely gone, but it's definitely not as burdening as it was a few minutes ago. And, now, the woman only finds herself practicing a curious patience as she silently observes her fiancé recall something else. The barbershop pole-cat that's secretly stolen his heart all this time is one she's ready to be as surprised as possible by.

Thankfully for Elsie's patience, Charles is all too pleased to inform her of this little secret sooner rather than later:

" _Last night alone_

_On our way home,"_

His timbre surprises her, tickles her deeply, the woman settling further into their bench and closing her eyes as she lets the sound wash over her. It isn't quite familiar just yet, and it's a bit of a stretch for his range, but he's only getting started and she loves the sentiment too much to complain. Furthermore, since she never thought he'd outright _sing_ the pole-cat, what with their current occupation of the courtyard, it makes all of this indescribably touching.

" _You turned and said to me,_

' _I love you so and I want to know,_

_What do you think about me?'"_

Feeling a hand grasp hers, blue irises softly re-open and contently beam in response. By this point, it doesn't matter what this pole-cat turns out to be; the fact that he genuinely loves it and trusts her enough to share it is all that she cares about.

" _Sweet and lovely,_

_That's what you are to me."_

Elsie quietly gasps in recognition, all worries placed aside as she breathes in this particular piece. And with his hand still holding hers, the song swaying her further into a dreamy state of existence, she can't help but embrace the beautiful sentiment behind sharing this.

" _Sugar and spice,_

_And everything nice,_

_You're all a girl should be."_

She arches an eyebrow at the lyrics, softly snorting at the assessment. Yet she can't help but make a connection with the lyrics to this. After all, the past may exist in some capacity, whether that's in out-dated beliefs or memory, it's true. But letting it haunt them after all this time won't make a difference. They had made mistakes back then, both of them. And, those mistakes back then didn't mean _this_ couldn't exist now.

" _Soon we'll marry,_

_You'll be my blushing bride._

_I will smile all the while_

_You're by my side."_

Giving into a knowing beam at the unintentional accuracy of the lyrics, Elsie lets that accuracy carry her further into a serenity she rarely felt. And soon enough, the woman feels herself fall further and further into the song's enchanting spell as the man beside her begins to carry the last words into a spine-tingling _ritardando_.

" _I will smile,"_

Elsie continues to turn in his direction, looking far more content than she has in weeks as she drinks in the intimate nostalgia seeping through the words. Nostalgia for the song, nostalgia for them and their blessed mistakes, it all cascades into and throughout his tone.

And her trained ears catch every inch of it.

" _All the while,"_

Charles' voice intentionally swings and dips into every musical note at hand, briefly softening the lyrics with a soothing _decrescendo_ before curling the blessed sentiments back into a tender _mezzo-piano_ –– continuing to gently finish off the fond tag.

" _You're by,"_

A kiss is softly placed on her hand, the man far well-aware of the school setting to do much more.

" _My,"_

Or, at least, he might've stopped there once upon a time. This time, however, he finds he's beginning to feel indifferent to the school setting, caressing her cheek without a care in the world.

" _Side."_

Holding the note out much like the lead would've, Charles feels pleased to observe that this little recital has resulted in Elsie's ever-present tension giving way to something calmer. And finally closing the distance so as to kiss her –– needing her to know that he didn't blame her for anything, that he is and will always be thankful to have her in his life –– Charles closes his eyes and breathes in the delightful sensation of her lips brushing up against his.

Whatever else, they can share in this.

They can revel in their little sanctuary away from the world.

Now, he knows that this little moment doesn't mean that there'll be no further discussions on the matter. But, whatever Charlie Grigg tried to accomplish when he'd thrown that curve ball of a fact at them, it doesn't really matter. Because, as Charles Carson is reminded of this sweet February afternoon, his future wife's someone who's incredibly deserving of his trust. Someone he can genuinely trust to hear him out, to listen even if she's got her own opinions on the matter, someone who does respect not only him but also his thoughts, his fears, his dreams.

And _that_ is as sweet and lovely as it can ever get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Hands down, that is my favorite pole-cat song to sing (though "Shine on Me" is certainly a close second!). And now that we made it through more of that arc, it's time to get back to wedding preparations among other things! _**This next update will be posted by this Friday, that I promise.**_ And as always, have a lovely day!


	10. Laced Sentimentality & Ringing Sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Author's Note:**_ Ta-da! Today we've got a dash of sentimentality, lace, plotting, collisions, Fair Ladies, costume talk, and something that has a certain _ring_ to it! Enjoy!

_**Monday, the 17th of February, 2020** _

_**6:42 a.m.** _

She had crept over the moment he'd gone off to take a shower, feeling unnaturally sentimental this morning and needing a second or two to herself. It was a strange sort of feeling and an atypical desire for her to do what she wanted to. After all it'd been several months since she had –– how had Beryl put it? Ah, yes –– said yes to the dress.

Then again, it'd taken longer than that for her to feel as though she needed to buy a wedding dress. Perhaps that was why the matter still lingered, why she found herself thinking about all that today. When it came to her wedding with Joe, her final selection hadn't been her choice for a dress, not really.

So when it came to this wedding, these special days with Charles, she found herself asking: why would it matter now what she wore? What difference would it make? Wasn't the most important thing that they were getting married? Besides, she hardly knew the traditions for a second wedding, especially not at her age. Was it appropriate to wear white? Would she feel foolish for indulging in something she was only likely to wear once?

But Charles, after coaxing her concerns out, had gently asked her to just try. To take this as a chance to do something for herself, to plan the wedding she wanted, not the wedding she felt obligated to put together. Really, he was much more clever and knowing than people gave him credit for, than _she_ sometimes gave him credit for.

And, so, Elsie decided that she would try, at least once. See if Becky, Beryl, and her mum were available to go in October, see if they were interested in venturing into boutiques and shops she'd never thought she'd see again. Fit herself into at least a few gowns and try her best not to expect anything –– whether that was good or bad.

Everyone had been available. And though she'd been initially concerned –– because, really, how could the _perfect_ dress be found so quickly? Was there even such a thing to be found? It hadn't happened the first time round, what made this any different?

Not only that, but how would they be able to afford anything deemed perfect? They were school-teachers who had no interest in going into debt for this. What they could set aside, what she was willing to set aside, wasn't very likely to equate to much in the grand scheme of the bridal world.

One visit turned into two turned into three. Hesitation crawled deeper into itself, more and more convinced that this was all a sign they ought to call it a day.

But, it turned out none of that really mattered, not in the end…

_._

_**Saturday, the 12th of October, 2019** _

_**2:42 p.m.** _

_Turning about the mirrors, astonished the very moment she'd slipped the gown on, she found herself floored by the elegant creation. Lace adorned the entire ensemble, from the beautiful three-quarter sleeves to the gentle fabric that tenderly pooled about her at the bottom. The neckline, a tasteful v-neck, felt wonderfully refined, mature without being matronly. That the ivory colouring glowed against her skin only helped solidify her decision._

_But Elsie had to suppose that the real icing on the cake was the turning around back to her little audience, the lace swirling about her as she did so, only to discover that everyone in the room was shell-shocked. The three most vocal women in her life, the three most exuberant spirits she'd ever known, were speechless._

" _My my," She teasingly murmured, still rather floored herself and unable to keep the pleased beam out of her eyes. Truth be told, she'd never known what it meant to feel like a bride until now. "I suppose this'll work."_

_._

**Monday, the 17th of February, 2020**

**6:47 a.m.**

Beryl had nearly strangled her at those words, the choir teacher's facetious manner being almost too much for her friend to handle. Elsie had to make up for such cheek by officially saying yes to the dress and taking many, _many_ pictures in the boutique stating as such, much to the woman's chagrin.

But, that was then. Today, she had no facetious manner, no quips about the whole thing, no hesitation about the future.

Only a sense of gratitude.

_._

**Tuesday, the 18th of February, 2020**

**3:21 p.m.**

He'd been standing center-stage, looking about the auditorium and wondering for the fifteenth time why Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had selected him of all people to play Enjolras. Staring about the room in self-contained awe, trying his best not to let the butterflies in his stomach reveal themselves in front of all of these new peers, Andy Parker began to turn around and prepare for the first––

For the first time he'd be clumsily bumping into some unsuspecting girl, the poor thing completely taken off-guard.

A flurry of apologies and confusion flitted about the pair as they stumbled back from the accident. They hadn't fallen, but they'd certainly made a mess of themselves and he was definitely kicking himself for being a dunce. Undoubtedly, everyone would see that it'd been his fault and then they would all think him stupid and then that's how they'd treat him for the rest of these rehearsals. And to think, this was the first of the _Les Mis_ rehearsals for the main ensemble! He'd really messed it up now, "I really am sorry––"

"Oh, it's okay!" This time, he finally heard her carefree tone, the girl's voice having been trying to reach him for half a minute, "Normally I'm the one doing the colliding."

Andy weakly chuckled at this, bent on trying to change the subject, "I don't even know your name."

"Ellie Bell," She proudly declared, holding out a hand, "And you?"

He grasped it, touched by her warm attitude, "Andy Parker."

"Andy, Ellie," Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had made it to the auditorium, standing next to one of the first row of seats in the house, "If you would be so kind as to join us down in the seats. We want to talk to everyone about a few things before getting started."

"'Course! Be right down!" Right away, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes!"

Proceeding to the stairs that ran along the side of the stage, these steps being the most efficient when it came to hurrying over to the seats in question, the tenor had been surprised to see Ellie was sat on the edge of the stage. She continued to surprise him by daring to hop right off the edge of the stage, gracefully landing in the orchestra pit and playfully curtseying at the sight of Andy gaping at her.

"If we are done risking injury to ourselves by roughhousing on the stage,"

"Sorry, Mr. Carson!" But the soprano didn't sound apologetic, only proving to the teen that she was quite the character and one he'd really like to get to know better.

_._

**Wednesday, the 19th of February, 2020**

**7:13 a.m.**

Beryl Patmore was never one for lurking or scurrying away in the shadows. She preferred to openly storm into a place, to barge her way through, anything but what she was doing right now: cautiously approaching a certain section of the school with as much discretion as she could muster, trying her best to furtively remain out of sight.

"Beryl?" She'd been spotted before she was ready by _them_ , of all people! And just when she was just a stone's throw away from her destination, when she was so close to making it undetected.

Turning around to face her dear friend and trying her best to seem perfectly innocent, "Elsie! Charles! _Madalynn_!" Oh, she was relieved to note that the English teacher had been trailing along the choir teachers. It meant that the pair was, no doubt, sufficiently distracted.

"Good morning, Mrs. Patmore!" Madalynn Thorn was a sight for sore eyes for the band director, if only because she made for the perfect excuse. But, no, in all honesty, Beryl did like the woman. She liked her once Madalynn finally got everyone's name right, that is. "I was just asking Elsie to share some of the choirs' efforts for their showcase. We in the English department have been rather curious to hear about the show,"

"Oh, well, I shouldn't keep you!" Beryl informed them, happy that the band room required a different set of stairs than the one for the choir rooms and English department. It meant she could pretend to walk in the opposite direction, as though she were preparing to set-up for the day, and no one could question her about it. It also meant that, when three sets of footfalls faded away out of earshot at last, the band director could stealthily double-back and––

And come face-to-face with one of her other dear friends, "May! Didn't see you there!"

"Beryl, great! I'd been meaning to ask you a question about the showcase––"

The redhead didn't give a mental curse about this bloody showcase, not even though it was getting in the way of her plans yet again. She didn't do as such because knew that the whole idea came from a good place and it was already quite the morale booster for everyone involved. Moreover, and this had to be Charles' influence, she knew cursing it would be childish. What she did do, however, was the following: "Sorry, May: can't talk the showcase right now! Have to have a chat with Mrs. Crawley."

Making sure to fake a shudder as though the task were a necessary evil being forced on her and not her own scheme, Beryl hurriedly glanced in the direction of the administration's offices. If that didn't get the message across, that she really wanted to be left alone, _nothing_ would.

"Oh, good luck with Violet." Beryl didn't dare to correct her about _which_ Mrs. Crawley she'd be seeing, not needing the orchestra director to linger. "Will you be free to chat during fifth then?"

"'Course!" She reassured the woman, discreetly casting another look about to make sure there would be no more interruptions after this. Seeing that the hallway was empty and that Cora Crawley's office was literally twelve steps away, Beryl quickly sent the May Bird off her way and hastily made her way toward her destination –– not in the mood to be put off any further.

Fortunately, the administrator was free to talk. Not that it would have mattered either way if the woman were free. This was important enough that the band director would've interrupted any meeting, well aware of the fact that time was of the essence here.

"Mrs. Patmore? What brings you here today?"

"Actually, now that you mention it," Beryl suspected that Cora Crawley would be all for the idea she was about to suggest. It was a bit of a stretch to have this much confidence, but the band director had a feeling the administrator wouldn't be terribly opposed to this.

Or, so, she hoped.

"Don't tell me: you want me to ask Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes to sing a duet for _The Best of Downton_?" The American teasingly asked, causing the woman to chortle at the thought. "While I do think that would be rather sweet, I don't know how agreeable they'd be to the thought."

"Not quite…" Though, that was a thought to consider; no doubt being an idea of merit. That is, if her friends were agreeable to the suggestion. However, that really had nothing to do with her reason for being here this morning. "But, it is something that involves them."

"Really? Well, now you have to tell me everything!"

_._

**Thursday, the 20th of February, 2020**

**7:13 a.m.**

It was one of their last rehearsals in 403, one of the last moments where they'd be working solely with the music. Next week meant that every class would start meeting in the auditorium, that they'd begin working on every aspect of the show –– choreography, the general set-up of each song, _everything_.

Just the thought of it had Claire Morris unable to sit still, beaming every time she entered the second fourth floor. And that was before she finally snagged a solo, being one of seven for "I Could Have Danced All Night".

In the spirit of fairness, wanting to give as many students a chance to be in the spotlight as possible, Mrs. Hughes had divided the original, lengthy solo into several parts. Needless to say, everyone had been ecstatic for the change-up, many more girls auditioning than anyone had expected. So, that she was one of the final seven, it was simply fantastic!

"Now, ladies, who can remind me where in _My Fair Lady_ this song takes place?" As soloists, they were all required to do additional research and find out as much as they could about the musical and the song. Claire had taken it as far as she could, finding out that the musical was entirely based off of George Bernard Shaw's _Pygmalion_.

"It's when Eliza finally has a breakthrough with her lessons!" The choir teacher nodded at this, pleased with the enthusiasm. Everyone had responded to the question, chattering their own equivalent of that answer.

"And, now, when have _you_ had your own breakthrough?" Claire paused in her excitement, much like her six other companions, "When have you had your own breakthrough, when you'd been trying to understand something and then it, one day, it just clicked? If you can recall your own breakthrough and remember it while you sing, it'll be easy to show the audience what Eliza is feeling."

Everyone had quieted down at this, thinking. Some were hesitant to share in case it wasn't what she wanted. Others simply didn't know what to think. After a moment, Maribel Diaz was brave enough to ask, "Can you give us an example, Mrs. Hughes?"

The older woman nodded, "It can be a breakthrough of any kind. Suppose, for instance, you had a breakthrough when it came to singing or school. That you'd been singing one way, but it was easier and more fun to sing another. That maths didn't have to be as complicated as it seemed, that––" The teacher trailed off, sheepishly smiling at all seven girls shaking their heads in firm disbelief, "Or, perhaps, maths really is that complicated."

Chuckles and titters broke out. And while Claire was all for laughing, she was also all for getting answers: "Do you have any other examples, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Well, suppose you woke up one day and suddenly understood something inspiring," The young soprano watched as her teacher glanced in the direction of 402, "Suppose you realized that life didn't have to be a certain way, that it could much more than you imagined."

Everyone knew what she was talking about. Or, more specifically, _who_ she was thinking about. And, resisting the urge to squeal and swoon over the love the woman held, all seven students kept quiet until she looked to remember where she was.

"Now, I want you to think about those moments for yourselves. Close your eyes, and think back to when you felt truly inspired by something you learned. There's no need to share it yet. For now, recall the memory and how you felt when it happened."

Claire did as instructed, trying her best to make the memory appropriate to choir, wanting to remain focused on the task at hand. She soon found herself thinking back to when she realized that a lot of singing was simply putting a musical note to her voice. That singing and speaking didn't have to be so different when it came down to it, something that had inspired her for _months_.

"I want you to keep your eyes closed, even when I play the accompaniment. And when it's your turn to sing, I want you to channel all of that memory when you sing. Reflect everything you felt in your voice and really dig deep into that memory..."

_._

**Friday, the 21st of February, 2020**

**5:57 p.m.**

Linda Vance considered herself many things: a decent soprano, a klutzy person on occasion, someone who prided herself on having compassion for people, so on and so forth. She had never before considered herself someone who was lacking in patience, who regretted her flaws, who dreaded going to rehearsals, _so on and so forth._

See, Alice Neal was changing everything.

Alice Neal and her incessant criticisms, peppered mostly in the direction of Downton's faculty. Alice Neal and her never-ending _prima donna_ attitude, her backhanded compliments, her subtly snide remarks –– it was a wonder Linda hadn't lost her temper yet and they were only a few rehearsals in.

" _Oh, Lida Rose, won't you be mine?"_

This song, for instance, was getting on the teaching assistant's nerves. Mrs. Hughes had stated clear as day that the showcase was _not_ supposed to repeat any musical. That in order to show a diverse range of musicals, the choir teacher had no desire in selecting multiple songs from the same musical.

So, seeing as how the faculty group were already planning on doing "It's You" from _The Music Man_ , why would they also do "Lida Rose/Dream Of Now" from none other than _The Music Man_? And, Linda didn't care if Alice proclaimed to have done her research, having supposedly found out that this was a classic barbershop piece.

No, Linda knew the woman had only suggested this song to spite Downton.

Well, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were showing her! Linda knew both teachers weren't entirely pleased with the suggestion, but they'd gracefully accepted the song when it came up –– especially when it became obvious the other directors were all for it.

"Right." The grey-eyed woman proclaimed as they finished the tag for the song, eyeing Elsie and Beryl with disappointment, "I still think one of our basses is flat. But there was some improvement in that section, I suppose."

Okay. One more barbed comment like that and Linda would need to be held back from shooting off a retort of her own, if not something worse. She didn't care if she was the most inexperienced musician in the room; there was being a perfectionist and then there was being cruel!

"Oh, look at the time!" The assistant's irritation cracked into something kinder at the interruption, turning back to see Joyce Barnaby glancing at the clock. Truly, Linda found her appreciation for Midsomer's choir director grew every time the woman spoke, "Looks like now's the perfect time to break!"

Well, at least it would be a break from Alice.

Linda suspected, as she watched Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson approach, this wouldn't be an actual break.

"Did you get a chance to look at the school's costume supply, Linda?" Internally wincing, having been avoiding the subject ever since she how depleted Downton was when it came to showcase costumes, the assistant didn't know how to tactfully respond.

"Well, yes." Mrs. Hughes nodded at this, understanding at once what the younger woman was implying.

Mr. Carson, on the other hand, looked as though he required further explanation.

"And?" The choir director inquired, "Do we have what we need?"

_Right._ Might as well get to the point with this. "With what we've got, I'll have to go thrift shopping, Mr. Carson." He looked as though he wanted to protest at this but she remained firm, "I've done it before and know I've got more than enough money to make it work."

"What's this I hear about thrift shopping?" Dickie Merton was another person Linda found she really respected, the man currently making his way over. Soon enough the situation was soon tactfully explained to the choir director, the result being: "Well, we certainly have a lot of costumes at Grey! And since we don't need them this semester, I'm sure it would be no trouble to lend them, no trouble at all."

"And," It seemed everyone was involving themselves with the matter, if Joyce's attitude was anything to go by, "Midsomer also has _a lot_ of costumes. In fact, my daughter's theatre company might even have extras they'd be happy to lend for the occasion."

"Well," Now it was time for the choir director to be as hesitant as his assistant, certainly not used to help from outside sources, "I suppose that could work."

"I think it's an excellent idea," Mrs. Hughes chimed in, looking inordinately pleased.

"The Center might also have something of value––"

"Oh, I'm sure there'll be enough as is," Joyce kindly remarked, "But I suppose talk of costumes brings up a good point: what exactly should we be aiming for here with _The Music Man_? American attire from the time period? Our attire from the time period? The classic concert attire?"

So much for _any_ sort of break.

"Well," Alice began, a glint in her eyes, "If you must know, I've an idea about that…"

_._

**Sunday, the 23rd of February, 2020**

**9:17 p.m.**

Really, Charles Carson was far more sentimental than he cared to admit. And though he usually felt comfortable with sharing said sentimentality with Elsie, there were still moments where it all was so unfamiliar, so foreign to him, that he needed to handle it alone. Where he needed a few minutes to himself to think about it all, become comfortable with it.

The man had quietly walked over to their dresser only once his fiancée began her nightly routine for bed, having left the room. He had no intention of lingering with this plan of his, not wanting to risk being playfully teased about it. But he did carry the strangest urge to indulge his sentimentality –– something that was happening more and more, if he were being entirely honest.

The drawer slid open like a beautiful _glissando_ , effortlessly revealing the two treasures he found himself frequently thinking of ever since they bought them. And, lovingly fingering the velvet ring boxes, he realized it wouldn't be enough as is. He needed to see their wedding rings in the open, needed to remind himself that this was going to happen.

Carefully easing the boxes out of the drawer, Charles brought them over to his side of the bed and delicately placed them down on the blanket.

It only took a few reverent heartbeats to open them.

They were simple bands, simple and sweet. A single thin band of gold for them both, the pair seamlessly matching. He'd felt that it was a sign of unity if they matched, and she'd been so touched by the idea she'd agreed at once.

"They really are lovely," Charles should've known that Elsie wouldn't have taken too long getting ready for bed. His subconscious might've even been counting on it, secretly hoping they'd have a moment to admire these beautiful treasures. But, whether it was intentional or not, he loved that she was here.

"They are." The man agreed, his heart lifting as he felt her take her place right beside him on the bed, leaning into him as they began to look at the rings together. Without saying another word, they continued to share in these little treasures.

Eventually, when it was clear they could spend all night here, it'd been decided that it was time for bed. Placing the rings back into their respective boxes, she took hold of his whilst he grasped hers. And together they brought them back to the drawer, sliding it shut together, content.


	11. Jazz Squares and an American Interruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said it time and time again but, truly: that you continue to support this story means the world to me. Thank you.
> 
> Also! Just in case there's concern about the title: although you've no doubt figured out I'm an American, I'm pleased to say I've got no interruptions for the story. Far from it!

**Monday, the 17th of February, 2020**

**9:46 a.m.**

"Anna? You all right?"

The blonde soprano glanced at Mary, the young woman having been eyeing the entrance to the backstage area. She thought she'd already faced the trauma of that horrid spring afternoon when they had to come back here to rehearse for Chicago over the summer. She and John had even snuck downstairs during one of the breaks that summer, having been determined to look it all in the eye. Alex Green may have been one of the most disgusting individuals she'd ever encountered, but that only made it all the more important to move past what had almost happened.

"Anna?"

But it seemed she was still stuck on what might've been.

"I'll be a moment, John asked me to wait for him." It was a white-lie, but Anna really didn't want Mary nearby. While her friend had been involved with that nightmare, the brunette hadn't been trapped in the basement with _him_ chasing after her. John hadn't exactly been in her shoes either, but he did understand more than Mary did.

"All right. But don't blame me when you two are officially late."

Yeah, tardiness was one of the last things on her mind.

_._

**9:51 a.m**

Charles Carson had been hesitant to invoke the help of others when this showcase idea first came to life. He was all for reducing his fiancée's stress when it came to this –– hence, their finding Linda and offering to give her this assistantship as a chance to gain experience.

But when Rose MacClare had approached the teachers, explaining that one of her uni friends was _absolutely brilliant with choreography, Mr. Carson, just brilliant_ he hadn't initially been interested. Even when Elsie had later confessed that her expertise was singing and _not_ choreography, and that choreography was key for a successful showcase, he was not moved to take action.

But it was only when Charles properly met Jack Ross that he realized this would not only be interesting, but it could actually work.

"Now, students," The man was professional but not harsh, maintaining a kind air even as he maintained high standards. "I know that this is choir, not a dance class. But I also know, having seen your shows and competitions, that your school is one of the best of the bunch."

Everyone in the Treble Choir remained absolutely fixed on the uni student, giving Mr. Ross a level of attention that Charles himself had never received. It was frankly shocking watching them so focused, and the choir director had been spending the last five minutes figuring out why on earth that was the reason.

"And because you're the best, I already know you're going to excel at anything I throw at you." Why were the girls blushing at this, titters and giggles breaking out? Mr. Ross was only stating the facts. "Which is why, today…"

_._

**Tuesday, the 18th of February, 2020**

**10:42 a.m.**

"I haven't done that much exercise in _ages._ " Daisy Robinson was not one for jazz squares or the Charleston. She felt all that belonged back in the 1920s, not the 2020s. But "Forty-Second Street" was a song that apparently threw out jazz squares like Händel encouraged trilling: _all the time_. And the Charleston–– don't even get her started on _that_!

"Be lucky we're not Rose." William cautioned her, barely catching his breath as they left the auditorium. "As soloist, she has to do all that and _more_."

But, that was the weirdest part in Daisy's mind: "I really don't think Rose has a problem with it."

The tenor paused, forcing himself to think over the last forty minutes as his panting finally eased, "You know, I think you're right."

"I'd even say she _liked_ it." Shuddering at the thought, Daisy never felt so relieved to be going to her next class. Seeing as how it focused on maths, something she didn't care for despite being a musician, it was normally boring.

Yeah, well, she'd take boring any day after everything her body just experienced. And, to think: this would be their routine from here on out! Learning the choreography, perfecting the music, putting together the two, that was going to be their class all the way until the show.

"Remind me: why did we say this was a good idea?"

_._

**12:57 p.m.**

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes! Might I borrow you for a moment?"

Interruptions were frequent these days for the two. But interruptions from Cora Crawley were unusual, to say the least –– something that the American was well aware of.

"Of course, Mrs. Crawley." She really had hoped they would've started calling her Cora by this point. But, seeing as how there were students milling about and she didn't need to give Charles Carson a heart attack when his wedding was only a few months away, the American refrained from saying anything.

Guiding the teachers into her office, she was well aware of the silent conversation they pair was currently exchanging. It was something every Downton administrator was quite familiar with –– the choir teachers' ability to communicate without saying a word, something that always occurred at least thrice during staff meetings.

She could only assume they were concerned that there was to be another budget cut like last spring. Much to her satisfaction, while what she had to discuss did involve finances, it was not another budget cut.

"Please, have a seat." Now that they were ensconced in her office, she could speak freely, "And, no, I've not asked for your time to inform you of another budget cut."

Both teachers weakly chuckled at this, confirming her original suspicion. Well, then this would be a pleasant surprise for the two of them.

"Thank you for letting us know so quickly, Mrs. Crawley."

The unspoken question –– _why exactly are we here?_ –– eventually made itself known after a beat, the pair looking at her with a curiosity they were determined to mask. If only they knew she didn't mind it; it made for a blessed change compared to the numerous individuals that were too political for her liking, having too good of a poker face for her liking.

Like Emma Butte before she'd met Elsie Hughes.

But _that_ was another story altogether.

One that she was quite thankful she never would have to relieve.

"There's two matters I'd like to discuss." Once Cora was given permission to continue, the teachers fully listening with rapt attention, "First and foremost, I recently heard that you've had some problems with narrowing down a wedding venue."

She hid back a smile at the look Mrs. Hughes shot her fiancé, the Scot no doubt thinking the man had spilled the beans on the matter. Of course, if that had been the case, Violet Crawley would be having this conversation instead. The American could only hope that it would eventually become clear the choir director had nothing to do with this, that someone else approached her about the matter.

"Mrs. Crawley–– Cora," At least Mrs. Hughes remembered her request to speak on a first-name basis, "I can assure you that, whether we've selected a venue or not, none of those preparations will conflict with our preparations for the showcase."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that!"

"... You're not?"

Their honest confusion was quite possibly the most endearing thing she'd witnessed for weeks, bringing out a reassuring smile in response.

"Not at all! I know you both will remain fully professional when it comes to the showcase." The administrator paused, partially to draw out the suspense but more so because they looked like they needed a moment to process her remarks. "No, what I wanted to tell you is that Robert and I are more than happy to let you use Downton Abbey for the wedding reception. For free, of course."

"I'm sorry?"

Cora smiled at the clear stupor, "It would be a privilege for us to lend you the Abbey for this occasion. The grounds in particular are always lovely in the summertime."

"Are–– are you sure, Mrs.–– Cora?" The American held back her amusement at the continued bewilderment, noticing how a hint of the choir teacher's accent snuck into the question, the woman quite unaware.

"I'm being entirely serious." She bluntly informed them, not a trace of doubt in her words. "The Abbey would be yours for the whole day, free of charge."

And, yes, the family really could afford it. Seeing as how the Abbey was now being used in some newfound, popular period drama –– _Highclere Castle_ , if Cora remembered the name right –– tourists from all over the world were beginning to swarm the place throughout the year. And the money now being raised from those endeavours was enough to ensure no need for future budget cuts.

Things could, of course, change.

For now, however, she could guarantee them this.

"But,"

"I don't need an answer right now." Cora knew there'd only be one answer for them whilst they were so overwhelmed: a polite refusal brought on by cognitive dissonance. "In fact, I don't want an answer for at least a month. That way you can handle your competitions without interruption."

Still, seeing as how they were on the verge of protesting, "Please, take your time with it. I mean that. Consider it an order from the administration if you must." And this she would remain firm on. She wouldn't press them into accepting but, having heard the details behind their dilemma, she really didn't want them settling when they didn't have to.

"Well then. Thank you for this, Cora." "Indeed. Thank you, Mrs. Crawley"

"It's our pleasure." And she meant that.

"Was there anything else you wish to discuss, Mrs. Crawley?"

Ah, yes. Now for the more pressing matter. "Before we talk about that, I want to let you know that this next matter will have no bearing on the wedding venue."

_In other words, there really are no strings attached to my offer. You are under no obligation to accept._

They nodded in understanding, that curiosity of theirs coming back.

For good reason, too.

"Seeing as how the 'Best of Downton' is only about a month away, the administration were wondering what you had in mind. I'm afraid none of us have heard of any choral plans for the performance, which we've found to be abnormal."

"My, my, we've not thought about that for a while." "Is it really only a month away?" So, Cora had been right to assume that neither Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson had spent any time contemplating that concert. She was also right to assume that the two really were beginning to overwork themselves –– judging from the unusual candour. In all her years of knowing Mr. Carson, he has never sounded that unsure of himself. And Mrs. Hughes looked to be equally taken aback, unusually so.

Truth be told, it only confirmed a suspicion of hers about all this. "I completely understand if you've been too busy to think the matter over. In fact, I have a suggestion,"

They looked at her with hints of relief lining their posture. Really, it wasn't as though forgetting about this show would lead to severe consequences!

"What do you suggest, Mrs. Crawley?"

"Well, firstly, I know that there will be a small ensemble for an _Into the Woods_ medley, which could be perfect for the show." From listening to her daughters alone, Cora knew better than to ask for a full class performance –– no one would be ready in time.

"Unfortunately, Cora, they won't be ready in time." The American had already figured as such, having had a lengthy and honest discussion with a certain band director about the situation –– not wanting to ask too much of the choirs at this stressful time.

"I had a feeling you might say that. Which is why my second thought was to ask for a faculty performance."

This brought decidedly mixed results: a sense of ease that the classes weren't being asked to perform and a look of dread of what "faculty" would be defined as in this case.

"Were you hoping that the faculty _a cappella_ group could perform, Mrs. Crawley? Because, I'm afraid to say that they probably won't be ready in time. We would, of course, have to ask the others directors and teachers but––"

It looked less like Charles Carson was worried about the faculty group being ready and more like he didn't want them anywhere near the "Best of Downton". Fortunately, Cora Crawley knew fully well why –– having met Alice Neal on a handful of occasions, she recognized the woman's character at once and carried a similar feeling.

"Actually, Mr. Carson, whether or not your group is ready, I feel that this is a show that should be limited to only Downton faculty and students." Their surprise was clear as day; what they hadn't realized was that said surprise was also entirely expected. "While such a group would show a sense of interfraternal spirit within the general community, the attention that it would take away from equally talented groups –– our students, our faculty –– would be disheartening to our community."

Mrs. Hughes seemed to doubt that statement, confusion flickering through her eyes as the woman tilted her head, thinking the reasoning over.

Mr. Carson, on the other hand, was all for the excuse.

Nevertheless, both did look to be back at square one: "Well then, I'm not sure what we can do, Cora. We do have some student soloists to recommend,"

"Oh, I'd love that! In fact," Subtly, she turned on her computer's monitor, casually putting forth a question that'd been on her mind for some time now: "Perhaps you'd be interested in performing another solo yourself, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Well, I don't know––"

"Els–– Mrs. Hughes, another solo of yours would be a marvelous treat for the school."

Cora smiled at the adoration that snuck into Mr. Carson's tone, eyeing her email's inbox as she quietly listened to them.

"Well, Mr. Carson, what with everything else we've to do, surely we should focus our priorities elsewhere?"

"I don't see why: surely, you've memorized your fair share of music? _Notre Armour,_ perhaps? You did mention last year you had it memorized."

" _Now_ you're teasing me! Has Mrs. Patmore put you up to this?"

The American had to admit: this was endearing to watch. However, she could also tell that Mrs. Hughes was feigning more energy than she had. That the woman could easily perform a solo, but that it wouldn't be her normal level of standards. She would quite possibly be doing it for pure obligation, nothing else. And the result, not only for her but everyone else involved, would be draining to say the least.

_Perhaps she was right,_ the administrator thought to herself, softly typing out a necessary email while the teachers continued their back-and-forth. It really was an entirely different world last spring, and today was only proving it.

"Now why would Mrs. Patmore have done that?"

"Because she's––"

"Perhaps," Cora interjected, knowing that this was the sort of bickering that could go on forever, "A duet might be in order this time around?"

"Solo or duet, I think any performance of Mrs. Hughes's would be excellent."

"I suppose a duet would be nice, though I can't think of who would be interested _and_ able to learn that quickly." It was obvious the pair were thinking this would be a student/teacher duet. But Cora was pleased to note that the tension that had been lining the woman disappeared the moment a duet was suggested. Nodding to herself, she sent off the email, focusing once more on the pair in front of her. "I'd also have to think about an appropriate song,"

"So you'll both do it then? Share in a duet?"

That was _not_ what they expected.

And seeing as how they were now so very close to outright gaping at her, Cora took this as her cue to continue uninterrupted.

"With a few student soloists and a duet from the staff, that sounds like we are representing our vocal talent." _Perhaps not our_ _ **choral**_ _talent, seeing as how duets and soloists do not make a choir. But that really would be asking too much, I can see that now._

"But, Mrs. Crawley, why not a duet featuring myself and a fellow student?"

"Mrs. Hugh–– Elsie," Seeing as how they were both thoroughly shocked by the suggestion, speaking so candidly seemed to be the only way to reach them. "Do you know of any student who would be prepared to pick up a duet before the show? On top of their schooling and everything else?"

Cora was well aware of the demands academia was placing on their students. That was part of the reason she was suggesting this unorthodox idea. It would not only give the teachers a chance to enjoy themselves, it would also ensure that the students weren't being asked to do much more than they should.

"Mrs.–– Cora, please, let me rephrase the question: are you sure you want _us_ to perform a duet? Do you not suppose that might be considered inappropriate, given the circumstances?"

The American might've let that sort of argument stop her idea in its tracks.

However, what she saw in both choir instructors kept her from giving up.

What she saw was not a dislike for the suggestion, but a concern about how it would be taken publicly. In fact, having been studying them closely for almost this entire conversation, having learned to read them rather well over this last year, Cora could definitively say they looked to be doing their best to hide the fact that they really _liked_ the concept. That these protestations were stemming from worry about how this would impact the school, not because they personally had no interest.

And, so, she would keep going.

"Why would it be inappropriate? You're going to be married in four months, your relationship is publicly accepted. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I find it to be fitting––" Her landline rang, signaling that there were administrative duties to attend to, "One moment,"

Lifting up the receiver to her ear, "Oh, Mrs. Gaunt, how nice it is to hear from you! And just who will you be transferring to me today? Oh, there's a meeting I've forgotten about, isn't there?"

Both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes looked to be a state of bewildered awe, not quite believing they were being asked to do this nor that it would be this easy. She herself could only continue to realize that this really had been the right move. And, sending them an apologetic smile, Cora hoped they would forgive her for this interruption.

Luckily, they did.

"Right. Sounds like a duet it'll be. Good luck with that meeting, Mrs. Crawley." The casual tone only continued to demonstrate how stunned Charles Carson continued to be –– something she thought she'd never witness. 

And, make no mistake: Elsie Hughes was certainly in a similar boat, "Yes, I hope everything's all right, Mrs.–– Cora."

Cora nodded at the pair, mouthing her thanks to them as Mrs. Gaunt transferred the caller over. She watched the pair as they exited her office, looking to be crossed between pleasantly surprised and opposed to the idea.

"Oh, and Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," The American lifted her head from the landline's receiver, wanting to assure them one last time that all would be well regardless of what they decided. "There's no pressure to accept. However, please know that you have the administration's full support if you choose to do so. And, I'll be checking in about a week to see what the verdict is."

They nodded, quietly giving her thanks for giving them time to think it over.

And once the door firmly closed behind the pair, she could properly speak to her conspirator of the morning.

" _How'd they take it?"_

Beryl Patmore could be quite the schemer when she wanted to be, that's what Cora had to conclude today. And with only a few days preparation!

After their previous conversation from last week, the band director revisited the conversation of what to do about the "Best of Downton". This time, however, she had a plan of her own. And though Cora had initially wanted to protest at the idea of coaxing the choir teachers into this duet idea, Beryl had been quick to assure her that –– whether it was down the line or in the moment –– the pair would love the idea. Moreover, the band director had said the administrator didn't have to force anyone to do anything. All the redhead asked was that she watch the two carefully and make a decision based off of gut feeling.

"They accepted it. Or, at least, they're going to consider it. I really think you were right about this, Mrs. Patmore: it looked to be the best idea they've heard in a while."

" _Excellent. And did they have any suggestions for songs?"_

"No. But, I'll remind them to come up with some when I follow-up. That is, if they do say yes."

" _Oh, they'll say yes all right! And the venue?"_

Oh, Cora had forgotten all about the wedding venue, having been distracted by this deviously good-natured plot.

_._

**Wednesday, the 19th of February, 2020**

**3:37 p.m.**

"I still can't believe they picked us both for the solo. That they actually _split_ the solo between us."

Such a decision only continued to instill confidence in the two singers, both proud that their teachers saw them on equal footing.

"Me either." Luckily, neither the tenor nor the baritone were opposed to sharing this opportunity. In fact, the latter was feeling good enough to joke around about it: "But, better us than Penelope and Mary."

Matthew Crawley saw right through the joke, groaning in response as he thought about the two ladies in question. "At least they're getting better."

Thomas Barrow couldn't help but oppose this statement, disbelieving of this optimism: "Are they really? Sure, there's less drama ever since that meeting of ours. But do you honestly think they're getting better?"

"I don't know." Matthew paused, staring down at the sheet music, "But I know we've got work to do if we're going to pull this off."

"Right." Thomas smiled to himself, joining his peer in looking at the sheet music. This was the song that'd gradually pushed him to let go of friends like Sarah O'Brien and crushes like Jimmy Kent. Hearing this led him to asking Mrs. Hughes for help the first semester she came in. It changed his perspective when it came to the world, made it easier than it might've been to give a relationship with Danny Boretsky a shot. There was just something so enthralling about the piece. Something that had him dream about how, one day, he might get a chance to sing it. And, now, he really did have that chance. "Did you ever catch the story behind this one?"

"Only that it made some sort of difference convincing Mr. Carson to listen to Mrs. Hughes."

Thomas snorted, the noise telling the transfer student that there was more to the story, "That's an understatement! People may say different, but I'm convinced this was the real reason he let her start an _a cappella_ group."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Matthew didn't need to look all that hard to see how much this all meant to the teen. The tenor could tell by the newfound energy he didn't get to normally see, the warmth that didn't tend to show in the baritone's eyes.

If that didn't imply that Thomas was a fan of "This is the Moment", that he wasn't ecstatic to be selected as one of two soloists for the song, nothing would.

"Right. Let's do this justice then."

_._

**Thursday, the 20th of February, 2020**

**11:51 a.m.**

"So, you'll be doing a duet then?" It was quite something to keep the delight out of her voice, to maintain an impartial tone that wouldn't set off any alarm bells.

But Beryl Patmore wasn't a professional performer for nothing.

"It seems so," Elsie confessed, "We talked it over and, I have to admit it to Mrs. Crawley: she'd really thought the matter over."

' _Course she did! I helped her with the reasoning!_

"But I've not a clue what we should do for a song. Once I've an idea, we'll let her know." However, the band director wasn't interested in the selected song for the duet, not right now.

She had bigger fish to fry.

"Now, I am sorry to badger you about this, but seeing as how I'm one of the people in charge helping you with your wedding, I've got to ask: have you two made a decision about the venue? Has anything changed?"

"Well, now that you mention," _Yes, yes, mention Cora's offer, please,_ "We've not made a decision, but something has changed."

"Really?"

"It seems Cora wants to offer us Downton for the day."

"The school?" Beryl was doing her absolute best to fake the confusion, if only because she knew how clever Elsie could be. If the redhead revealed what she knew too soon, it would become clear she had a hand in it. 

"No, no, not the school. Downton Abbey. Though, I'm not sure we should accept."

_Oh, for the love of–– we're doing this **again**? _"Why not?"

"Well, is Downton Abbey really us?" _What about the courtyard, which you already rejected?_ "I mean, do two school teachers really have the right to have a reception at such a place? Isn't it a little too grand for us?"

"If I remember correctly, all you wanted was something fancy enough for him and simple enough for you. And, something about a summer's breeze?" The bride-to-be still looked hesitant, "I dunno about you Elsie, but I'd say the Abbey fits the bill. Did she say you'd have the house or the grounds?"

"I think we'd be welcomed to all of it."

"See? Now _that_ sounds like quite a bargain! And I bet I'd be able to make the cake just like you asked, regardless of your main caterers!"

There was that look of suspicion, a look she knew all too well: "Beryl, did you have something to do with this?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about!"

"Beryl Elaine Patmore––"

"Now, wait a minute! There's no need to talk like that, Elsie May Hughes!"

_._

**4:47 p.m.**

In retrospect, Mary Crawley should have realized how excellent the ensemble for the _Into the Woods_ medley would be. Even though this had been one of the last songs to audition for, that didn't mean the quality of performance was lacking.

" _Into the woods you go again,_

_You have to every now and then!"_

Today was running through the basic movements again for the medley, getting another idea at what this song's choreography would entail.

" _Into the woods, each time you go_

_There's more to learn of what you know!"_

It seemed Mr. Ross was content to follow along the lines of the original choreography, a campy style of movement which was probably the only qualm she had with this. She personally wasn't one for skipping around in a circle, acting as though she were lost in a ghastly forest.

" _Into the woods! Into the woods!_

_Into the woods and out of the woods,"_

But everyone was doing remarkably well, adapting to the choreographer's requests and easily adjusting to being on the stage versus 402. William made for an endearing Jack, Daisy was frankly perfect for Little Red Riding Hood, Charlotte Williams did a brilliant job as Cinderella. Harold Lowe was a good Narrator, Laura Edmunds worked well as the Baker's Wife and, of course, Charles Blake was rather good at playing the Baker.

" _And happily ever after!" "I wish!"_

And with that, they'd finished yet another successful rehearsal. Now all that was left was to hear comments and critiques from Mr. Ross, Mr. Carson, and Mrs. Hughes. Of course, once the choir director complimented her yet again on her performance in the medley, Mary tuned the rest of the comments out –– her thoughts drifting. She'd never thought she would be playing the Witch from _Into the Woods_ in any capacity; yet, much like Miss Vance had hinted, it seemed a tolerable role for her capability.

Eventually, the comments came and went –– with them, the students.

Except, it looked as though someone was being careless with their music today, something that was quite the mistake.

"I do believe someone's left their music behind!" Mary archly remarked to the space, withholding a knowing smirk as Charles Blake sheepishly turned back toward her–– having been only seconds away from exiting the auditorium.

"I hope you're not planning to put a spell on that," He teased as he approached, surprised when this jest coaxed Mary into laughing at the suggestion.

"Perhaps next time, if you forget again." The dark-haired soprano retorted in response, playing along with the harmless joke. "Though, perhaps you'll be able to bake me something instead."

"I'm afraid I'm not that much of a baker," _Shocking,_ Mary dryly thought to herself. Had the reverse been the case, she might've been impressed. At least he made for a good singer. That was more than so many of the other baritones in the choirs. "But I am pretty handy 'round pigs!"

"'Handy 'round pigs'?" The soprano repeated, genuine amusement cracking through her controlled demeanour. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Well, if you're free Saturday," Which she technically was, seeing as how that was typically her personal rehearsal day to refine everything. "I could show you. I've got to help a family friend, a farmer."

"A farmer?" This certainly wasn't what the soprano ever imagined she would be involved with.

"A farmer." He affirmed, "Only if you're interested, of course."

Oddly enough, Mary Crawley found that she was.

_._

**Friday, the 21st of February, 2020**

**6:02 p.m.**

"My goodness, you've brought enough for an army!"

Joyce Barnaby and Dickie Merton had finally arrived with their costume sets, starting to roll all the costume racks onto the stage for perusal. Since there were still at least half a dozen costume racks that needed to be rolled, everyone else hurried up onto the stage –– intent on helping to bring the remaining racks toward center-stage.

"How nice!" Alice Neal languidly followed behind the others, brightly continuing, "And I'm sure you'll all be pleased to know that _my_ dress will be arriving in just a week!"

"We are, we are?" Beryl was struggling to show how unimpressed she was. But could the woman really be blamed? The whole group had spent at least a good twenty minutes listening to Miss Neal describe her dress in all of its glory last week.

"Beryl––"

"Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson," Having sensed an argument was definitely on the way if the two women were to be overheard, Linda discreetly came to the rescue by loudly pointing out, "I think we'll definitely have enough now for all the students!"

Pieces of all kinds were contained within the portable costume racks, the garment bags that protected them unzipped enough to look inside. Period costumes for _Into the Woods, Drowsy Chaperone, 42nd Street, Les Misérables,_ and _My Fair Lady_ were waiting to be examined. American Western outfits for _Annie Get Your Gun_ were within arm's reach, with a fair amount that looked perfect for _Footloose._

The racks went on and on, with more than enough for options. Garments of all varieties awaited them, carefully marked so as to distinguish which was from Midsomer and which was from Grey. There would be no confusion over what was available, there was enough to ensure variety and novelty for practically every performer. In other words, they were well taken care of in this regard.

"Now, since you wanted to have the students work with their costumes until performance day, we've both agreed it's best to leave them all downstairs, outside the dressing rooms."

"Oh, are we really sure we want _our_ costumes hanging about the students? I mean, I'm sure you trust them, but what if one of them got up to something when we weren't there?"

"Alice," The woman was getting on everyone's nerves if Anthony Strallan was finally speaking up, "I'm just as sure there's no need for that sort of attitude. Everyone at Downton is worthy of our trust."

"But what about those incidents from last spring? For example, that horrid young man sneaking into the building on the day of their concert?"

"But he wasn't from Downton––"

"But didn't he have help from someone in the choirs?" When it was clear that she was adamantly sticking to this point, "If the rest of you don't care about such issues, that's fine. But I'm not interested in risking it. So, Charlie, is there another place? Or do I have to leave it at The Center until the day of?"

"Well, Alice," The choir director was not pleased with the request for more than one reason, "There's only one other closet available to us, in 403. Unless you'd prefer to leave your dress in a locked practice room?"

"Not ideal, Charlie. The closet will have to suffice."

"Right. Well, as my fiancée would've told you," He gestured to Elsie to finish the thought, the Scot hardly needing a prompt: "It's not available for use."

"Why not?"

"Because, _Alice_ ," Beryl stepped in with clear slivers of satisfaction in her voice, "It's being used to store their wedding decorations."

The Center choir teacher coldly smiled at this, "Oh, really? Surely there's enough space for a little old thing of mine? Or is this wedding –– that I don't believe I ever received an invitation to, by the way –– _that_ ostentatious? Really, if it were,"

"All right. If you bring in the dress next week, we'll see if we can make it work." _If only to stop this foolishness._

"Now then," Francesca was stepping in at last, a subtle irritation clipping her words, "If we're done using up precious rehearsal time, perhaps Mr. Ross here can explain some choreography to us?"

"Well, since we don't have a lot of time today," The choreographer took to the question without any hesitation, understanding the finer details behind today's dynamics, "I wanted to focus only on 'It's You' for today…."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, Alice and wedding supplies will not mix well. But, on the other hand, it's costume time (one of my personal favorite bits to musical theatre!)! And if the idea of everyone discovering a costume doesn't sound all that interesting, think of it as slipping on a completely different world of existence.
> 
> Moreover, I admit I'm giving away one of my other pairings for Downton (Mary/Charles Blake). I do love Matthew/Mary, but it just doesn't seem right here. And, I feel like she would have to mature more if she were to be with someone like Henry Talbot. No worries if none of that's your cup of tea; it's all going to be more subtly referenced than anything else.
> 
> And, for anyone who's like "But, isn't a duet between them low-key inappropriate?" I would normally agree. However, given the circumstances, it doesn't really seem all that scandalous. And, seeing as how there are many chaste duets as well as a few platonic ones in musical theatre, it's not as though it'd really be risqué or anything. 
> 
> Also! **If there's a canon middle name for Beryl, _I would greatly appreciate knowing it!_** While the lack of one gives me a chance to reference a really cool person, I usually try to follow canon.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed today's installment and have a lovely day!


	12. Faux Fur and a Gown Meant for a Bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. I really hope the chapter makes up for the delay in posting.
> 
> Also, there'll be cameos scattered across to real costumes on the show. Please, enjoy :)

**Monday, the 24th of February, 2020**

**9:01 a.m.**

"Now, ladies,"

Molly Curtis really wanted to respect Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. But when _all_ of the costumes were only just out of reach, her eyes couldn't help but drift away, her attention fading.

"Mr. Carson, Miss Vance, and I will be _personally_ checking every costume to ensure that the final selection is appropriate." The Scottish teacher began to warn them, barely maintaining Molly's focus. "Under no circumstances is _anyone_ to be wearing anything that hasn't been approved by the three of us."

_Of course. Who would be that stupid? Now can we plleeeeassseeeeee try them on? Pretty please?_

"Which means that,"

_I"m guessing not._

"It is imperative you judge your potential costume not only on whether it's appropriate for the song, but also on whether or not it's appropriate for a school production."

_C'mon, Mrs. Hughes. We're totally mature when it comes to this stuff. We can be trusted not to be stupid._

"Remember, if you're unsure, let it go. There's plenty of other costumes from which to choose."

_We know, we know, we know––_

"And also remember," Mr. Carson quickly interjected, "The three of us _will_ be checking each and every outfit. And there will be a record of whether or not your costume has been officially approved."

_Of course there will be: it's you. If there wasn't an 'official record' I'd be surprised._

"Now, if there are any questions?"

_Nope! No one's got a question––_

"Erm, Mrs. Hughes," _Camillia Botterill, if you make so much as_ _ **one**_ _complaint,_ "Are these _really_ our only options?"

"I'm gonna kill her."

"Molly?" Oh, they'd heard that, the teachers did. "What did you say?"

_._

**4:46 p.m.**

"Okay, but how about _this?"_

"Abigail Hankins, if you think for one second that orange, feathers and purple sequins go together, I am officially banning you from this octet."

However, for once, no malice entered Penelope's tone. In fact, the young lady seemed to be incorporating a dead-pan humour, one that served to crack up everyone within earshot. It seemed the private conversation Penelope had with Daniel, the one person in the octet who could reach her, worked. The _prima donna_ in the making still craved the spotlight, but was slowly becoming more of a team player.

"No, I think _this_ would be far more fitting for the occasion." Penelope then proceeded to hoist up a dress for everyone to see. The thing could only be politely described as… garish. "Does it not simply scream _Call Me Madam_?"

"Okay, if _I'm_ not allowed to rock my _beautiful_ outfit of orange, feathers and purple sequins, I don't see why you should be allowed to wear _that––"_

"Ladies, ladies," Connor Pond stepped forth, his grin filled to the brim with mirth, "I don't know how to say this,"

"Go on,"

"But, I really think there's only one person who can pull off either outfit."

They both leaned in, tempted by what was undoubtedly be a joke, "Who, Connor?"

However, before the tenor could reveal his punchline, "You are not making me wear _anything_ , Connor Pond!"

"But, David," His peer started to proclaim, unabashedly taking hold of both Penelope and Abigail's gaudy treasures and ushering them toward the bass, "You'd look _sublime!_ "

_._

**4:51 p.m.**

"So, you'd think mucking about with pigs would be a ghastly business, wouldn't you, Matthew?" They had been secluded away from the others, surreptitiously glancing through what remained for costumes.

"Sure, I believe it." He hadn't a clue either way, the idea never occurring to him.

"Well, _actually,_ and if you mention this to anyone," But his cousin seemed positively _enthralled_ with the idea of trusting him with every detail, judging by how she beat about the bush.

"I wouldn't dream of saying anything," And Matthew wouldn't. He wouldn't betray her confidence.

"Good." She took a moment to eye a gown, trying her best not to show how happy she was about the prior weekend. "In that case, I suppose I can admit that it was, dare I say, amusing."

"'Amusing'?"

"Shall I be explaining myself or not?" But Mary wasn't cross, not really. In fact, a hint of a knowing smile played around the corners of her stare, even as she fought back the mildest of blushes.

This had to be the first time they were talking to each other, _really_ talking to each other, since the start of the semester. Neither knew what the other's thinking for this was. And both were equally unsure as to what prompted this.

Only that it was really nice to finally be talking again.

_._

**5:02 p.m.**

" _Oooooooh!"_ Phyllis grinned at the enthusiasm of one Daniel "Danny" Boretsky, the Texan's energy infectious even through a video-chat, " _You just_ have _to t_ _ry that_ _on!"_

Thomas, ever the good-natured boyfriend, disappeared from sight to slip on the mess of fuchsia ruffles and electric green chiffon that had been suggested. When he finally returned, slinking across the way as he did so and pretending to be on the runway, Phyllis almost dropped the phone from the roaring laughter –– her guffaws and Danny's chortles overpowering her concentration when it came to holding up the mobile.

"It's perfect, I know." The baritone informed them with a straight face, his demeanour managing not to crack in spite of the fact that he'd never looked so ridiculous. That he was also posing dramatically, as though there was a paparazzi before him, didn't help them maintain decorum.

" _That's the one!"_ Danny declared once he regained his breath, " _Tell Mrs. Hughes and Miss Miller you have found the_ perfect _outfit!"_

Seeing as how the octet was Mrs. Hughes and Miss Miller's pet project, it had been decided that Mr. Carson and Miss Vance didn't need to approve these outfits. Which meant that the eight students had a little more lee-way when it came to their selections –– not that any of them were genuinely going to indulge.

"I'm afraid that is _not_ the 'perfect outfit', Thomas, Daniel, Phyllis." All three froze at the sound of Mrs. Hughes arriving on the scene, the students quickly whirling around to profusely apologize for unwittingly offending the woman with their jokes.

"Agreed, Mrs. Hughes," _Oh, God no._ Miss Miller had joined the group, her eyes scanning the costume in question. The two women shared a look, shaking their heads in disbelief before turning back to the chastened teens, firmly agreed:

"It can't be perfect: it's missing glitter."

_._

**5:04 p.m.**

After inwardly cackling for the last minute, enjoying that little joke about Barrow's outfit with her newfound partner in crime, Phoebe Miller found herself relieved this was working. They still had a ways to go, seeing as how the two schools continued to segregate themselves for most of the rehearsals.

But to hear the genuine laughter from today, to recognize that the students were beginning to listen to one another as a team and not eight individuals, it was something.

"Thomas? Is that you underneath that organza?" Phoebe turned at the sound of Penelope calling out to the baritone, tensing at the question. The two students seemed neutral in general, at best, meaning that this interaction could in any direction.

"Now _that's_ an outfit! I don't know Penelope, I think Thomas's gonna give you a run for your money." Abigail pointed out, applauding Barrow's choice in apparel –– grinning as he bowed facetiously in response.

"Oh, Thomas wouldn't dare." The soprano primly responded, now decked out in a monstrosity of tulle. The teachers couldn't determine if it was supposed to be a dress or a jumpsuit, the layers puffing out to make the diva look like a pastel pink snowman, "I'll just have to see this for myself!"

As the students began to come together over this, their normal boundaries slipping away, Phoebe couldn't help but wonder aloud, "They've got it all memorized, I think we can give them a few more minutes." Then, turning to the only one who might oppose the idea, "That is, if that's all right with you, Mr. Ross?"

The man understood, having seen these eight students in action before. He knew this change in attitude was to be treasured:"Works for me. They know their stuff."

"That they do." Mrs. Hughes echoed his sentiment, pleased.

_._

**Tuesday, the 25th of February, 2020**

**12:03 p.m.**

They had ducked out of the second fourth floor once again, however, this time it had been due to Linda's bold insistence. "I can handle any soloists that come, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," She bluntly informed them, ushering them toward the door, "And you might as well try on costumes now before everyone else does on Friday."

The knowing look she gave them both, one that implied their sanity might be saved if they weren't trying costumes on for the first time in front of Alice Neal and her scathing criticisms, is what persuaded them in the end.

Of course, they would never admit to it.

"Suppose this gives us inspiration for the duet?" Elsie had dryly remarked as they ventured downstairs, having been blanking on an appropriate song to select. She rather liked the idea of not being behind a curtain, watching him conduct in silent observance, but instead getting to stand by his side for all to see.

However, the teacher also wanted to make sure that they made the right impression on the school population –– not wanting to set the wrong example for their students. Similarly to last year, she didn't want to risk any sort of scandal, especially with the wedding only months away. She could already see the sort of outrage Alice would stir up at the very idea of this duet. And who knew what that would do for the school's reputation.

It turned out, however, that the moment the clothing racks came back into view, all thoughts of a duet were thrown to the winds. Apparently, they were as invested in the whole process as their students, once given the chance to have a little fun.

"My, my." All teachers agreed that it would be best that it would be best to set aside the fact that _The Music Man_ was supposed to take place around 1912 in America –– seeing as how they didn't have those costumes on hand. Instead, they would all find costumes based on their own Edwardian era. Or, rather, the gentlemen would find matching outfits that resembled barbershop at its finest. The ladies, on the other hand, would scour the racks for anything that remotely looked like it came out of the Edwardian era. "I think we've a few options here."

"Only 'a few'?"

Elsie chuckled, pleased he was returning the quip.

The lighthearted air would only help with the matter.

The woman already knew this would be a difficult task, even with their resources. It wasn't the fact that they were unlikely to find something fitting; more so that any costume chosen would incur all sorts of criticism, which meant she had to be abnormally selective.

Charles, however, had no such hesitations about the whole thing.

"Are you sure that's the one you'd like?"

Elsie softly sighed at the protestation, turning around in the ensemble piece in question. It was a plain black dress, a conservative one that fell to her ankles. The majority of it was a patterned fabric with lovely splashes of chromaticism around the collar and the wrists. Others might have referred it to a "spinstery" in nature, but she herself found it more mature than anything.

"Charles, I'm not singing lead on this. I'm the bass." Besides, she had no desire to stir up any talk of stealing the show by wearing something extravagant. Moreover, in her eyes, this is what the Edwardian era looked like. Perhaps it might've been more suited to a housekeeper than a lady from the time, but this is what felt appropriate. "And, you said yourself this had more style than the navy blue."

He'd also said the charcoal skirt and the pale blue blouse –– a combination that looked relaxed, perfect for a day at the beach and prettier than most of the other options –– looked to be ten years past the era. In fact, every dress or outfit she'd selected was either too simple or too modern in his eyes. And his opinions were becoming so adamant she seriously considered chucking him out of the dressing rooms and picking something on her own.

"But what about this?"

Elsie turned, gaping at the gown he brought out, profusely shaking her head at the thought.

"Charlie," The man stiffened, but they'd talked about this. He himself had asked her to use it once in a while, wanting to put the past behind him. Still, whether he asked for it or not, his fiancée knew it would take some adjustment. "That would _not_ be appropriate. They wouldn't have been wearing gowns like that in _The Music Man_ –– certainly not for 'Lida Rose' or 'It's You'."

"At least try it?" It was an enthralling creation of black lace on a cream satin, layered so as to maintain an illusion of modesty. By today's standards, it was rather modest. And, still, there lingered a hint of allure stitched into the piece, refinement weaving together with enchantment to create a stunning vision of class.

"No." The word was soft but firm, the woman gentle yet determined. "No, I won't try it."

Charles frowned, disappointed as she knew he would be.

But, really, it felt like too much in her mind. Too much extravagance for a small act. And, no doubt, this would be something that would upstage the others –– one of the last things she wanted to do, not when there was already an unpleasant atmosphere infecting the group.

"However," Much as Elsie would rather just take the black dress from before or even the navy blue, she knew in her heart she wouldn't be happy in it. She would make it work, and would look to be of something from the era, but it wouldn't be right. So, that only left one more option: "I will try this."

What she held now was not an evening gown. It was also not a piece suited for a servant. Rather, it struck her as a costume for a relaxed day in life, perhaps worn on a stroll. The pastel pink blouse, dotted with charming hints of flowers, came with a timeless white brooch and a lovely black hat as well as a matching jacket and skirt. It would blend into the background whilst maintaining the tone of the era.

And, most importantly of all, she liked it.

"Well, I suppose it's something." His eyes still glanced in the direction of that other gown, the one she refused to try on, even as he conceded. She gave a faint, exasperated smile at the man, finding his incapability to fake enthusiasm more amusing than anything.

"I'm sure you'd prefer this over nothing at all," The choir teacher quipped knowingly, her smile widening as she walked off to try the ensemble on.

"I wouldn't say that."

She stumbled, a blush creeping into her step as the woman kept her back firmly to him. But two could play at this game, "Don't tempt me, Mr. Carson."

"I would _never_ think of doing that, Mrs. Hughes."

_Never, indeed._

_._

**3:42 p.m.**

Edith Crawley had stumbled upon the dress quite by accident, her hand having brushed up against the soft material when she wasn't looking.

"What's this?" Delicately pulling the gown away from its hanger, she found the sea foam green creation to be stunning. With an elegant slit running down the side, creating a tasteful ripple effect, she knew that this had a chance for working in _Drowsy Chaperone._ This looked like it was right out of the 1920s, the very era that the satirical musical took place in. And seeing as how she had snagged _the_ title role –– being cast as the Drowsy Chaperone herself –– she knew it wouldn't be frowned upon to wear such an enchanting piece.

If nothing else, she would try it on.

It would only take her five minutes to realize it was so much better than she could've ever imagined. Not only that, but she would soon realize she wasn't the only one who took well to these costumes.

"Evelyn," She said in shock, looking at her friend as he emerged from the changing area. The young singer looked perfect for his role as the Man in Chair –– decked in cable-knit sweater on top of a striped sweater vest, a long-sleeved button down shirt, and brown corduroys, complete with a red tie. "You look _perfect!_ "

"You really think so?" He asked shyly, a bashful smile tugging at his lips. She firmly nodded, knowing his character well. The Man in Chair –– an intentionally nameless character, much like her own –– was the narrator of _Drowsy_. The character was a reclusive fan of musical theatre, content to be secluded by the world and surrounded by his records of the Golden Age of Broadway, among other eras. This was the type of character who was brilliant but timid, greatly knowledgeable but private and often dismissed.

In other words, a character that Evelyn Napier would understand very well.

"I really do!"

But her friend had taken note of her outfit and all thoughts of his own costume faded.

"Edith," He said, finally seeing what she wore, his eyes widening, " _You_ look perfect."

She blushed at this, unused to the praise. "I think everyone does, don't you?"

And they really did. Joseph Moseley, and Henry Lang were now esteemed gentlemen from the era; Phyllis Baxter was practicing her ukulele for her part in the song, her periwinkle gown fluttering through the air with each gentle movement; Septimus Spratt was pulling the gangster look off rather well, his two henchwomen in the song –– Megan Abbott and Gwen Dawson –– laughing over something in their chef outfits; Laura Foster chatted away with Tony Gillingham, the soprano's espresso skin tone beautifully complemented by her stunning aviator outfit.

Truly, the more everyone found the right attire, the more the various archetypes of the twenties came to life.

And, frankly, it was all so dazzling to witness.

_._

**4:16 p.m.**

"Aren't you quite the rebel?"

Andy swiftly turned around at the voice, grinning. As his costume aimed to resemble a revolutionary from the Paris Uprising of 1832, the time period in which _Les Mis_ took place, Ellie's compliment had him pleased.

"You're not looking too bad yourself, Ellie. Or should I say, Cosette?" She beamed, twirling about in her dress, looking rather tickled. He couldn't help but smile at this, his eyes committing this beautiful image of her to memory.

"Think they'll approve?" The soprano asked, a trail of insecurity threading itself into the words, the first he'd ever heard.

The tenor scoffed not unkindly, confident, "They'll love it."

_._

**Wednesday, the 26th of February, 2020**

**9:52 a.m.**

"Rose? You still changing?"

The soprano in question resisted the urge to smile mischievously at the question, "I'll be just a moment, Sybil!"

"Isn't that what she said _five_ minutes ago?" Good old Mary could be counted on to hold a regal sense of disdain. But it didn't bother Rose. She'd found her piece for _42nd Street_ and all that was left was to convince Mr. Carson that it was absolutely appropriate for her to wear this.

"Rose, if you're not out there in forty seconds––"

"All right, all right, I'm ready." Trying her best not to smirk as she opened the door to the dressing room, Rose strutted out into the hallway and joined the three ladies.

"Oh my God, that's amazing!" " _Please_ tell me this is what you've decided on!" "There's no way Mr. Carson is going to let you get away with that!"

Smoothly turning about in her sharp tuxedo, Rose tipped her top hat and gave her best grin, "I was thinking about that. If I get my costume checked by Mrs. Hughes first, I bet it'll work out just fine."

"But," Mary wasn't quite spluttering, though it was a very near thing, "You'll be the _only_ girl dressed like that,"

"Exactly!" Sybil interjected, thrilled, "It'll be perfect as the soloisist!"

" _And_ ," Edith began to add, a pleased gleam in her eye, "It's quite classy. Even you have to admit that, Mary."

"I certainly do _not_." She paused, thinking the matter over. "But I suppose, for Rose's sake, I can concede the point."

"Did you hear that, Rose? Mary'll be 'conceding' the point!"

"Oh, but speaking of perfect costumes," The youngest Crawley daughter brought up, not wanting another row to break out, "What'll your witch costume look like?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out. Though, I will say, Miss Vance picked it out for me personally."

"She did not!"

"Did, too!'

"Did not!"

"That's never gonna end, is it, Sybil?"

"Probably not." She turned to the tuxedo-clad soprano, "Shall we see what the teachers say?"

"Let's!"

_._

**Friday, the 27th of February, 2020**

**4:14 p.m.**

Matthew Crawley had been one of the unlucky few that hadn't found the right outfit on the spot. In fact, even though almost every member of his octet had already discovered what they needed, he had to revisit the costume supply in his spare time.

"Matthew, glad you could make it. Please, don't mind the teachers. Let's just see if we can find you something." He smiled at Mrs. Hughes' offer, not needing the reassurance but appreciating it, nevertheless.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." The Scot nodded, leading him back toward where the costumes now remained. As she'd mentioned, there were faculty from the other schools already swarming the racks, skimming the attire for anything suitable. It might've been intimidating, except for the fact that the atmosphere was lively –– one filled with curiosity and wonderment.

Really, with the way the adults were treating one another, Matthew didn't understand the rumours about this group. He'd heard that there was a never-ending sense of tension among the teachers and directors with endless backhanded remarks and dry retorts that bordered on the insulting.

Those rumours were not what he saw today.

In fact, it was all so very reassuring he felt he could continue with task in peace. Sifting through the clothes, quietly searching through the racks for a third time that week in vain, Matthew nearly lost himself to the process.

That is, until _she_ arrived.

"Good to see we've all gotten started!"

A bubbly voice, unfamiliar to the tenor, sounded from the top of the stairs leading to the dressing rooms. The air immediately shifted, stifled and withdrawn, at the noise. He turned out of intrigue, looking up and finding himself instantaneously entranced.

She wore a stunning pearl white gown, one that looked to come out of a period drama and not the costume rack. A cotton piece that shaped her figure wonderfully, layers blending together to create a regal image, the woman looked as though she were floating off to her own wedding, not a show. And with a magnificent hat that matched the glamour of her outfit, the stranger held the eye of everyone in the room.

"Alice," Dickie Merton began to greet the woman –– and was that a hint of disappointment in his voice?" "Glad you were able to find your way."

"But, of course," She brightly responded, something in the words setting off an alarm bell for the still-captivated teen. She looked very pretty, there was no mistaking that. However, there was something about her attitude….

"I see you've already tried your dress on," Mrs. Patmore pointed out, the woman more than just "disappointed".

"Yes, and I'm so sorry yours isn't as…" She looked to be searching for the right word, eventually settling on: "Nice."

As it stood, Matthew thought the band director looked brilliant in her attire. But he remained quiet on the matter, having the feeling that it wouldn't bode well if he were to try to interrupt this conversation.

"Oh, and Elsie, your costume looks so–– so _charming_." The tenor hid a scowl at the thinly veiled sarcasm, bristling at the not-so-subtle derisive tone. "And who is this handsome young man?"

"This is Matthew Crawley," Mr. Carson coolly introduced, "Matthew Crawley, Alice Neal."

So, _this_ was Alice Neal. The woman he'd been hearing so many whispers about ever since this faculty group got started. Quite possibly the reason why Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes always looked a little more defeated every Friday. As well as the reason that Penelope and Mary had been previously convinced the octet would be no more, the girls citing that Miss Neal never cared for others stealing the show.

Yes, well, now he was beginning to understand why.

"Charmed, I'm sure." Miss Neal coolly remarked, turning, "Now, Charlie," Was she really laying a hand on his choir director as though no one would notice? "Where's this closet of yours? I want to make sure my dress will be safe and, with this school, no one really knows, do they?"

Right. Quite honestly, if she kept up with this act of hers, he would feel very pressed to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Matthew may be a genuinely nice person, but that doesn't mean he'll let bullies have their way.


	13. An Atrocious Dress and a Crawley Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because, especially in trying times, there should be a chance for hope. And thus, this chapter! 
> 
> I will say one other thing (as a heads up for an uncomfortable conversation coming up). Cognitive dissonance –– feeling incredibly conflicted about a situation because your perception and principles are being asked to make a tough call –– is something everyone experiences at some point or another. It shows up in various forms, hence why a certain someone might be acting a little atypical during a certain conversation.
> 
> In any case, enjoy!

**Monday, the 2nd of March, 2020**

**1:14 p.m.**

It really was atrocious.

Not the dress itself, unfortunately. If Alice's dress really had been atrocious, Linda might not have cared all that much about the situation. However, as it was, the dress that woman chose was stupidly stunning and disgustingly attractive. It fitted her well and made the teaching assistant want to scream every time she saw it.

The worst part had to have been watching Alice make all those barbed remarks about the wedding decorations that were sat right beside it. Hearing all of those backhanded compliments about the wedding favours and the decorations had made it a very difficult moment.

And now they were stuck with the stupid thing, the dress standing dead-center in the closet as though the space were a stage.

If only she could knock it over. By accident, of course. With Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes nowhere nearby, so they couldn't be blamed. Maybe she could _accidentally_ step on some of the fabric, snag a bit by mistake.

Oh, who was Linda kidding?

She was as likely to do any of that as she was to go a whole day without tripping over herself.

_._

**3:45 p.m.**

The key to "As We Stumble Along", as Evelyn Napier had learnt over the weeks, was making sure there was intention in every aspect. This was the reprise of the theme of the show, the final song for the musical _The Drowsy Chaperone_. It was at this point that every main character came together for one last piece –– each briefly singing their respective song to tie the entire show together.

Seeing as how the audience hadn't seen the full show beforehand, considering the fact that this would be their only taste of the musical, it meant that everyone had to be well-versed with their part. That the timing had to be perfect, the energy just right.

For instance, Tony Gillingham –– playing the cheerfully debonair Robert –– had to be thoroughly committed to his line, " _I'm an accident waiting to happen."_ It had to feel as though everyone in the crowd had already seen him skate around the stage, singing "Accident Waiting to Happen" blindfolded, just like in the show.

Septimus Spratt, however, had a much different part to play. Taking on the role of the shady producer Feldzieg, accompanied by his two goons, Septimus, Megan Abbot, and Gwen got to enjoy their fifteen seconds of fame by shouting " _Toledo Surprise!"_ at the appropriate time –– subtly referencing one of the funnier songs in the show.

Everyone was getting a chance to sing references to the entire show in this, each lyric chiming in so as to wrap the respective sentiments into a very sweet bow. From flappers to gangsters disguised as chefs, it had to all blend seamlessly into one final act. 

As for Evelyn? His character, Man in Chair, had been the narrator of the entire show. The whole musical took place in his character's apartment, the stage typically set to look as though it were a little flat. If the show were being performed in its entirety, he would've spent most of it sat in an armchair off to the side, playing a "live" record that would bring the whole musical to life, eagerly talking about every aspect he could.

It was one of those "play within a play" concepts, and he loved every second of it.

"All right, everyone," Mrs. Hughes garnered their attention quickly, the woman having given them a five-minute break before trying everything again. "Are we ready to try a second run-through of the song? Monologue included?"

"Erm," Having the only monologue in the entire musical theatre showcase, Evelyn felt compelled to have it perfected. "Maybe not the whole monologue?"

He knew he really needed to do the whole thing, but he just needed more time to practice the monologue before he would feel okay about performing it. Not to mention the fact that this was the tenor's first solo performance in all his time at Downton and _that_ was intimidating, to say the least.

"How about we start from 'I know it's not a perfect show'?" It would be enough to help the shy singer become more comfortable with his monologue, but short enough he wouldn't be drowning in the abnormal attention.

He could agree to it.

_._

**Tuesday, the 3rd of March, 2020**

**7:23 a.m.**   
  


"Have you given any thought to Mrs. Crawley's idea?" Because he had. He'd been thinking of how perfect it would be to have Downton for the reception ever since the American suggested it.

"Oh, not with the competitions and the 'Best of Downton' only a few weeks away." Well, that wasn't normal for Elsie. His fiancée normally gave everything full consideration, regardless of the concerts and competitions. Moreover, she usually had an answer, if not an opinion, about anything he asked.

Charles paused, glancing at her from his desk. He hadn't been able to focus on a single task, not when he'd been wanting to ask her of this for days now. But, somehow, he got the sense that this wasn't something that Elsie wanted to talk about.

Well, hopefully, she would be ready to talk about it soon.

_._

**3:31 p.m.**

It was an unofficial rehearsal, one brought on by a sense of camaraderie. Everyone who would be competing as a soloist, whether they'd done it before or not, had come together to talk about what the competition would entail and what to keep in mind.

To keep it casual and more relaxed, one of the students had managed to convince Madalynn Thorn to hand over her classroom until 4:30 –– the agreement being that they only needed the room to practice the non-singing aspects of competing.

"First and foremost, you need to know how you're going to introduce yourself." Mary wasted no time in explaining herself, knowing the process rather well, "We'll all have to wait outside in the corridors until it's time to be called in to sing your solo. Which means your judge's first impression of you is the way you present yourself when you walk in, how you speak to them as you introduce your song, so on and so forth." 

Anna chimed in, wanting to be of help, "Many people don't realize how important it is to perfect your introduction. Whether your judge is fair or not –– and we'll get into that later –– it's important to do your best to start off on the right foot. Just like how we get first impressions of others, so do they for us."

Thomas took over from here, needing no further prompting. "An introduction can be the difference between receiving a Superior and a Fair. For example," Thomas began to slouch as he piped up, detachedly looking at everyone, "Hi. Name's Thomas Barrow. I'll be doing 'Out There' from _Hunchback of Notre Dame._ It was written and composed by two blokes, Schwartz and Menken. Couldn't tell you who did what, but there you have it."

Everyone giggled and snickered, no doubt imagining Mr. Carson's reaction to such an introduction.

"Pretty sure I wouldn't do so well if I started out like that. However," He dropped the slouch, held everyone's gaze with an intentional energy and began to calmly intone, "Hello. My name is Thomas Barrow and I will be singing 'Out There' from the musical _The Hunchback of Notre Dame._ The lyrics to 'Out There' were written by Stephen Schwartz whilst the music was composed by Alan Menken."

All of the new competitors stared in disbelief at the change whilst the veterans of the crowd looked on fondly –– remembering when introducing themselves seemed to be the hardest part of the performance.

"So, anyone want to give it a go?"

_._

**Wednesday, the 4th of March, 2020**

**11:41 a.m**

"Mr. Carson," Violet Crawley watched as the man kept from jumping at the sound of her voice, his demeanour almost entertaining. "A word."

It was less of a request and more of a command. Seeing as how the administrator had heard of the choir's indecision when it came to accepting the Abbey for their reception venue, she had taken it upon her to sort the matter out personally.

"Of course, Mrs. Crawley." Without another word, he was following her back toward her office. The older woman kept a sharp pace as they walked, dismissing the idea they needed to indulge in "small-talk" or any such trivialities. This would serve to inform him how serious the matter was in addition to dissuading him from believing he could easily avoid the subject.

Once they made it into her office, the door firmly shut, Violet took to her seat and pointedly stared him down –– refusing to be the first to speak. Speaking, in this instance, meant a lack of control. And Violet Crawley was the personification of control.

It would take her only one minute of curt silence to obtain an answer.

"Mrs. Crawley, when it comes to wedding venues, we merely wish to consider all of our options."

_Oh, I'm sure._ At least he was smart enough to know this didn't involve the choirs. That she didn't have to state any extraneous questions, that he didn't beat around the bush, significantly helped to reduce her dissatisfaction.

"I didn't realize you had other 'options'." She knew as well as her daughter-in-law that the engaged couple didn't, not in the eyes of the Crawley family. There were supposedly two other venues the teachers could consider, however, both were indubitably unsuitable for the occasion.

The choir director nodded at this, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation. She had no such qualms, content to take full advantage of his discomfort if it meant he revealed the issue at hand. Fortunately, fortunately for Mr. Carson at any rate, it only took Violet ten seconds to ascertain the situation.

"Mr. Carson," Seeing as how the man was refusing to say anything else on the matter, there was nothing gained from intimidating him. Even if it was amusing.

"Yes, Mrs. Crawley?"

"I find it best to, as Mrs. Levinson might suggest," It was a necessary burden to bring that American into the conversation, seeing as how it guaranteed his shock and full attention, "Put all of one's cards on the tables when discussing all of the options."

He nodded, not exactly sure what she was implying.

"In other words, Mr. Carson," For she had a fair assumption in regards to why Downton had not been accepted, "If you have a reasoning behind your opinion, I suggest you state it."

Because she was well aware that he wanted to have it at the Abbey. She knew that long before she saw the glimmer of excitement he so desperately tried to hide from her.

Which meant that there was someone else who was hesitant, someone who was holding them back from making a decision. And whilst she could understand listening to and respecting Mrs. Hughes' opinion, whatever it may be, it was becoming apparent that Mr. Carson's own opinion wasn't being heard in the process.

And _that_ she wouldn't stand for.

_._

**4:32 p.m**

"I know I shouldn't be mentioning it, but I'm still bothered by it."

" _This 'it' wouldn't happen to be Alice Neal, would it?"_ Matthew quickly looked up at the phone, bewildered at Danny Boretsky's response. " _Thomas told me all about her."_

"It's about her." He confessed, feeling more and more sheepish by the second.

"Yeah, I'm thankful I've never had to deal with Alice." Andy bluntly admitted, all too eager to discuss the situation. Thomas and Matthew had asked him and Danny to critique their combined solo, wanting to make sure that it was perfect for the show. But seeing as how Alice Neal reminded the tenor of Emma Butte, he was more than willing to switch subjects and talk about the woman –– if only because then they might be able to do something about her before this got out of control.

"She certainly is something else." Matthew admitted, recalling his last experience with the woman. "Frankly, I was uncomfortable watching her act like that toward Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"Makes sense. But wasn't it only snide comments and a little flirting?" Which was enough to irritate even Thomas, but not enough to take any serious action against the woman.

"Yeah." Matthew still didn't like it, none of them did.

" _Well,"_ Danny eventually chimed in, " _When she messes up, I know of at least one baritone who's gonna take full advantage."_

They all chuckled at this, Thomas faintly blushing at the comment.

"I'm not that bad!" He tried to protest, but in vain –– it only coaxed more laughter, everyone knowing the baritone could be rather impish when he wanted.

"Maybe we could fake an opportunity, something to get her far away from Downton right before the concert." Andy threw out on a whim, willing to try anything.

" _You could always send her to Texas! We'd be more than happy to take her on!"_ That prompted guffaws and snorts, the four teens tickled by the very thought of it.

"In May?" For May 8th, 2020 was indeed the date of the concert. "Isn't it always hot over there?"

" _Only 80 degrees! If you want hot, you should come out here in August!"_

"'80 degrees'?" Fully aware that the Texan was talking Fahrenheit and not Centigrade, "I don't know how she'd survive that!"

" _Very funny."_

"Have they even heard of her over there? Does anyone know of 'the Lark of Song'?"

" _Nah, not really."_

"Even better." Although it was absolutely a joke in all of their minds, Thomas still persisted in taking it a step further, "So, how would we convince her to come to lovely Beaumont, Texas?"

" _Weelllll, if we're taking this seriously…"_

_._

**Thursday, the 5th of March, 2020**

**3:34 p.m**

"Well, we can't destroy the thing." Elsie stumbled at the sound of Beryl talking of destruction. She'd crack open the door to 403, not realizing anyone was in the room, and could now overhear the conversation inside. "But it really _is_ irritating."

"I just don't understand why she can't leave her dress with the other faculty costumes?" With this little clue, Linda's voice harmlessly brushing up against the door, the choir teacher knew exactly what was going on. "It's really unfair."

"You're telling me." The redhead paused, a plan running through her mind. "I still think we could get away with burning it, just a bit. A singe or two."

"And _I_ ," Both women froze at the Scot's voice, "Am telling you both you will do no such thing."

"Elsie!" "Mrs. Hughes!"

"Mrs. Patmore, Miss Vance," Much as she personally approved of their ideas, the choir teacher knew better than to publicly condone anything. "Will one of you kindly shut the closet door?"

"Before you lecture me on what I can and cannot do," It seemed Beryl's tolerance for Miss Neal was rapidly thinning out. Something that was understandable, but not acceptable if they were to survive these upcoming rehearsals. "I'd like to say just one thing,"

"Mrs. Hughes?" Before any sort of row could break out, Charles had arrived –– oblivious to the tension in the room, if his tone was anything to go by.

She turned to her fiancé, curious as to what was on his mind. "Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"Might I have a word?"

"Of course." And, shooing the two younger women away whilst she shut the closet door, Elsie turned back to him. "Is everything all right?"

"It's just," Those words alone, that taciturn quality to his voice, told her what exactly it was he wanted to talk about. "I think we need to discuss where we'll be having the reception."

"I see." The woman really hadn't wanted to have this conversation now. She already knew he was enamoured with the Abbey, wanting to say yes the moment Cora offered it. But she'd been hesitant to take advantage of the offer, not sure if she deserved the right to ask that of the Crawleys. And though she felt cowardly for avoiding the conversation, that was precisely what she had been doing. "Do you think we should say yes?"

"I do." Elsie faintly smiled at this, having already known as such. "But I don't think you understand why."

Well, now! She'd have to hear him out now –– if only to see if he was indeed correct.

"And why do you think we should say yes?" _Because of the grandness of it all? A grandness I can't even be sure is really us._ She didn't know where the perfect venue was, slowly becoming convinced there was no such thing. When Downton had first been offered to them, she couldn't tell if it was as close to perfection as they were going to get or if it was truly too much to ask for –– if having such a perfect place meant the reception was destined for disaster.

It was ridiculously melodramatic, but it was true: she felt there had to be a balance struck, a humble trade-off that would ensure they weren't asking for too much.

It was one thing to request a school's courtyard for a few hours. Requesting what felt like a castle? For an entire day, no less? And for _free_! No, surely such extravagance would result in something going terribly wrong. Besides, was Downton really meant for them? Yes, it was stunning in its splendour, but wasn't it too extravagant for them? Too much of a performance, something they would've never been able to afford normally?

Of course, considering her first wedding felt like a performance from start to end, perhaps it was best to say yes to the idea and be done with it.

"It's not just about the grandeur for me, Elsie." She gave him a look, knowing the man better than that. Whether he had other reasons, Downton's elegance had long since won him over. "All right. Grandeur plays a part in this, but,"

"'But what, Charles?"

He was hesitating again, a sense of vulnerability sneaking back into the man –– stopping him from saying his piece and putting these unspoken thoughts to rest.

"Charles?"

"Well, for me," This was difficult for him to say. It was probably selfish, certainly taking advantage of the Crawley family's generosity, but he needed to say it. "When I see Downton Abbey now, I no longer only see a grand old house from an era now gone."

When her fiancé looked hesitant to delve any further, an unconfident manner returning to him, she was there to encourage him, "Go on."

Charles nodded, feeling ridiculous for being so tentative about the matter. This was Elsie, someone he knew he could trust himself with. And yet this was also a subject that was difficult to broach, a request that was terribly difficult to make, a secret deeply personal to him.

"Well," The man repeated the word, concluding it was best to get straight to the point: "When I look at the Abbey now, I–– I only see our first dance together. At the Winter Ball."

_Oh._

"I see the moment I began to recognize my feelings for you –– conflicting feelings, of course, seeing as how I thought you were married." She couldn't help but softly laugh at this, remembering that whole ordeal. Him thinking her married to a fictional man, her thinking him married to the craft. That whole dance, both in the literal and metaphorical sense, one that lasted seven months. "And, of course, these feelings would take a while longer to understand, but that's when I began to see them. That is when I began to recognize what it was I felt."

It felt silly to repeat himself, to lack eloquence in this confession, but he didn't see any derision in her eyes.

Only love.

"I remember the evening well." And she did. Their first dance, their walk together through the downstairs area, all of it. His unintentionally risqué comment about her dress, one that sent her cheeks aflame for the entire hour afterwards, that awkward incident with Tufton, the "Blaue Donau" wafting around the room as they waltzed the rest of the night away.

Charles smiled, touched she felt the same. He could hear it in her voice, a _dulce_ quality that paralleled his own sentiment. Emboldened by this realization, he continued, "That evening was very special for me. The Abbey itself took on new meaning for me, enough so that I would be honoured to–– to have it be where we enjoy our first dance as husband and wife."

Because that was his perspective on the matter. That had been his motivation behind accepting Cora's request. Yes, there was a bonus of having the Abbey in all of its splendour as their reception area.

However, that was only a bonus.

"Well now," She looked so taken with the thought he could almost cry, the lightness of her tone a foil against the tears welling in her eyes. "When you put it like that, there is only one answer."

"And that is?" Charles didn't dare to presume, needing every assurance he could take.

"Yes." She beamed, the combined sentiment strong enough to dissipate so many of her own insecurities, her own concerns. "I'd love to have the reception at the Abbey."

"Do you mean that, Elsie? Really mean that?"

The woman was inches away from kissing him before she remembered to officially agree, "I do."

That statement, those two beautiful words slammed into him before he could think, the man speechless. He could only stare at her in desperate relief, seeing an honesty in her eyes that reassured him in a way words never could.

"We really have changed, haven't we?" Charles couldn't help the sentiment, floored by the last five minutes.

"We have." She echoed, fondness threading itself into her lilt. Though, there was a stitch of something else, too. Something else that had her turning away at the last second, stopping the kiss before it could happen: "Changed. Changed–– we've _changed_!"

"Didn't we just agree as such?"

"Charlie," There was exasperation in Elsie's voice, a quality that remained despite the fact that she was turning back to kiss him –– shocking the man once more. _Dulce_ to _vivace,_ the tones rapidly switched tempo, further stupefying the man. "That's exactly my point. We've changed."

He still didn't get what was going on.

"Elsie?"

"I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier!"

"Think of what earlier?" Technically, she was still in his arms. Her thoughts, however?

Those were miles away.

"The duet!" This kiss was more celebratory, swiftly interrupted by the necessity of finding the appropriate sheet music.

"Elsie?" But the woman was already heading back to 403, so very thrilled with herself for finally figuring it out. Not only had they come to an agreement on the venue, but she had come up with the answer for their duet _at last_. "Aren't you going to tell me what you've decided on?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to venture into the woods to find out for yourself, Charlie!" _Venture into the woods?_ She really was in another world, making confusing references that only showed him how lost he was when it came to this conversation.

Charles followed the trail of his fiancée back into 402, the sounds of fingers flying over keys long since apparent. However, this did not come from the piano. It seemed the woman was letting her hands dance across his computer's keyboard –– methodically pulling up the sheet music from the Internet within seconds.

"It'll be a little high for your range, but I doubt that'll pose any real problems," The choir director approached her with a sense of bewildered admiration, not sure what was going on but intrigued. "And the words are simple enough we can pick it up with time to spare."

Charles brushed up against her shoulder, taking in her clear excitement before redirecting his gaze toward the screen. Whilst the sensation of her leaning into him would normally distract him to no end, the man couldn't help but let his curiosity keep him focused.

"'It Takes Two'?" He asked, a desire to look over the sheet music growing.

"It really does, Charlie. Surely you already knew that?" Oh, he would kiss that cheeky grin right off her face, he really would. But, first, a quick perusal of the sheet music at hand––

Actually, on second thought, perhaps the sheet music could wait….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t it grand when things really start to come together? 
> 
> Moreover, kudos to anyone who recognizes the duet song they go with! I was originally going to keep it a secret until the performance itself, but it felt like the right thing to share it now :)
> 
> Oh, and if anyone’s like “But why not that song from before? The one where they’re in the auditorium just having fun?” the song from before (“Almost Like Being In Love”) is meant for a tenor/soprano. With Charles’ range as is, any song selected would preferably be bass/soprano (which are rare) or baritone/soprano (a little less rare). Hence, why it’s even more of a challenge for them.
> 
> In any case, I really hope you enjoy the reasoning for the venue! It was a treat to figure out, and I hope I’ve done it justice. As always, good luck with everything and have a lovely day!


	14. A Grand Breeze and an Electrifying Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for a time-jump? We're talking like two-three weeks of jumping, as a reference.
> 
> And, no worries if you're confused about anything brought up in this chapter (e.g., the competitions that'll be mentioned). It should all be explained in the second author's note at the bottom.
> 
> Also! I do not own either _Into the Woods_ nor _Downton Abbey._ And, furthermore, the duet performance was definitely inspired by the original Broadway cast for _Into the Woods_ –– a scene you can see for yourself if you look up "Into the Woods - It Takes Two" (it should be the second option, as put up by GreenLampshade).
> 
> And, finally, **a "warning":** We're about to experience _all_ of the fluff and optimism. Like, _alllllll_ of the fluff and optimism. You'll see….

**Sunday, the 22nd of March, 2020**

**9:37 a.m**

They stepped off the gravel and onto the inviting grass, a grand breeze coaxing them both to look in the direction of the grounds where their reception was to be hosted. Downton Abbey had stolen his heart many years ago, beginning to take hers the longer they stood here in the blissful sunlight.

"Are you sure you want to do this today? You just hosted a choir competition yesterday!" The pair turned to the American, smiling at the concern.

"Oh, it's much easier to host than it is to compete, Mrs. Crawley." Charles reassured her, not wanting to be put off. This had been the first day all of their schedules lined up since they'd formally agreed to having Downton for the reception. He was not letting anything, not even a choir competition, get in the way.

Hosting the competition had been fairly straightforward, to the point wherein most of the day blurred together. No histrionics from students or teachers, no mess when it came to scoring or awarding the prizes. The process was chaotic when it came to making sure everything worked out, but simple enough when it came to managing the competition itself.

"Or so we tell ourselves," But Elsie had no real complaints about anything. She, too, looked to be swept up in the atmosphere of Downton, understanding for herself that this was the best decision they could make. Not only was it frugal, it also held a personal sentiment none of the other venues could rival. And seeing as how they'd be using the grounds for the reception, instead of the indoors where they had their first dance, that sentiment wouldn't be tainted if anything went wrong.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Crawley," Albert Mason pointed out, having offered to help them get over to Downton. Seeing as how he and Beryl had a decently significant role in the wedding, they both felt it was the least they could do. "They promised to take it easy yesterday in anticipation of this."

"And, for once," Beryl seamlessly interjected, "They actually did!"

Cora shared a laugh with the band director at the tease whilst Mr. Mason kept politely quiet about the subject. As for the two choir teachers?

They were deeply unamused.

"In that case, let's get to it!" The atmosphere eased as the American focused solely on the couple, "How would you like to do this? I can walk you through how we've set up outdoor events in the past, if you'd like."

"That would be lovely."

Cora nodded, pleased to have this chance to show off the Abbey and help the pair make their dream wedding more of a reality. They spent the next hour going over the various arrangements in the past, discussing what came with the house for an outdoor reception, so and so forth. Information, quips, and frank conversation were exchanged, everyone open to any and all suggestions on how to structure the event.

Eventually, however, "You were actually planning on hearing the banns today, right?"

Charles blinked, having forgotten how much time had passed, Elsie equally caught off guard by Beryl's rhetorical question as she continued, "Because, If I'm not mistaken, the eleven o'clock service will be starting in about twenty minutes."

"My, my." "Mrs. Crawley, thank you so much for giving us a tour today, but I'm afraid,"

"Of course I won't be stopping you from going to church!" The administrator looked to be filled with delight for the couple, not realizing this was their plan for the rest of the morning, "We can continue this discussion at the school and finalize the plans then."

"Perfect! Once again, thank you. It's an honour."

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," The American began to affirm, "Believe me when I say the honour is all mine."

_._

**Monday, the 23rd of March, 2020**

**10:53 a.m**

Lavinia had taken over a private practice room the moment she could, wanting to rehearse away from the prying eyes of other students. All the other students really knew their stuff with introductions and how to perform their solos, intimidating the soprano, causing her to want to work on her solo in solitude.

Luckily, the practice room was small, with enough space for a piano, a bench, and maybe two individuals tops. That the door automatically locked, ensuring that no one could interrupt her whilst she was rehearsing, made up for the fact that the room wasn't sound proof.

But that's why she came up during her lunch period, knowing that other students preferred to spend time with their friends instead. It meant that almost no one, save for a stray cellist a few rooms away, was rehearsing here. Well, whoever they were, they wouldn't care what she was doing. Having already run through her warm-ups, she hadn't received any official complaint –– telling the young woman that it wouldn't be a bother to rehearse.

Her phone buzzed, taking Lavinia's concentration away from cellists and complaints. Looking away from the sheet music for her solo, she couldn't stop a small smile from peeking out at the text she was now receiving.

_**Good luck with your rehearsal today! You totally got this! –– CP** _

_You're up early today!_ Lavinia thought to herself, surprised at the text. But that didn't take away the fact that she was really happy to see a message from this particular friend.

Cindy Paisley, a friend Matthew made over the summer and a musical theatre genius, had videochatted Lavinia a few times to help practice, as per Matthew's request. That the American singer was willing to help did loads for Lavinia's confidence, pushing the strawberry blonde soprano to go beyond what she thought possible.

That Matthew was just as confident, sticking around for each rehearsal and cheering her on throughout it all, felt indescribable.

_**Thank you! –– LS** _

Silencing her phone for the time being, not wanting to be interrupted by anything else, Lavinia turned back to her sheet music and closed her eyes, trying to get out of her thoughts. The sight of Matthew smiling at her, cheering her on during each and every one of those video chats, came to the forefront.

It helped her relax, helped her take a starting breath, imagine the accompaniment come to life, and start to sing.

" _I'd like to swim_

_In a clear blue sea_

_Where the water is icy cold._

_And go to town in a golden gown_

_And have my fortune told."_

Though she was unsure about the musical _The Fantasticks_ , Lavinia really did enjoy her solo, "Much More". It was all about going out into the world, experiencing things she never thought she could. And it had the young woman feel as though she wasn't playing a character. Instead, she felt as though she were singing for herself and for the things she wanted to do in life.

" _Just once!"_ Lavinia tried her best to dive into the higher note, still being a little afraid of such notes, " _Just once."_

" _Just once before I'm old."_ That part was always hard, but it was really hard today. She would definitely need to go over it again if she wanted it to work. But when it did finally work it'd be as brilliant as Matthew said, she was sure of it!

_._

**7:02 p.m.**

It'd unintentionally happened, a complete accident. The octet had been leaving the building and he'd slipped up. But Matthew couldn't help himself, not when Phyllis had commented on how tired Mrs. Hughes and Miss Miller seemed to be getting.

"Yeah, I'm sure Alice Neal has _nothing_ to do with it." The tenor darkly remarked, forgetting his customary manners for a moment.

"Alice Neal?" Penelope asked, raising a coiffed eyebrow. "Can't stand the woman. The very definition of a _prima donna_."

"Takes one to know one." Mary's muttering, luckily, was not heard by her fellow soprano.

"I never liked her. Had to deal with her only once and that was enough for me." Connor admitted freely, "Never volunteer to help The Center out at one of their shows, that's all I can say."

"Trying to impress a certain tenor, were you?" He wouldn't dignify that with a response, ignoring Penelope's little jab at what had to be a crush.

Frankly, Abigail had better things to do than exchange barbed remarks amongst her peers: "Do you really think she's why Mrs. Hughes and Miss Miller are slowly losing it?"

Both teachers were looking more and more worn down every week. They thought they could hide it, the growing exhaustion and the gradual loss in spirit as well as sanity. But all eight students saw straight through the act.

"That definitely could be a part of it. I still can't believe all the schools decided to get together and sing –– sounds like a nightmare in the making."

"I'm sure it's not _that_ bad. She's annoying but she's not a nightmare."

Matthew broke a little further at Connor's comment, still bothered by what he witnessed, "It's bad enough she's acting terribly toward Mrs. Hughes, outright _flirting_ with Mr. Carson in public, and dismissing everyone else in the process."

"Oh, yeah, that's awful." Connor frowned, thinking the matter over, "Don't suppose we can do anything about it though."

There were murmurs of agreement, the others disheartened by the situation but hesitant to act. When it was only such minor things there really wasn't much to be done. It wasn't like she was explicitly harming any students, and everything that could be made into a complaint would probably be deemed "harmless".

"But," It was David, not Matthew, who began to speak at last, the normally taciturn teenager looking displeased by the discussion, "What if we could?"

_._

**Thursday, the 26th of March, 2020**

**11:07 a.m**

Linda Vance knew exactly why Beryl Patmore had decided to _randomly_ pop by. She knew it was no coincidence that the band director had materialized out of nowhere, casually starting to interrogate the teaching assistant when it was clear they were the only two on the floor. The redhead was trying to find out how stressed out her friends really were, if their supposed composure was all a front.

Well, the stress wasn't too bad these days. Yes, when no students were around, both the choir director and his colleague gave away just how exhausted they were getting –– their normally lively tones becoming peppered with a _grave_ atmosphere. But that was to be expected with all the events and the preparations, what the show and the wedding.

"At least they're done with hosting competitions."

The teaching assistant nodded at Mrs. Patmore's remark, in full agreement. "There is that––"

Linda really should've known better than to speak up, not when the band director was on a proverbial roll, "Though I suppose the 'Best of Downton'll get in the way of their getting a break."

"There is also that, Mrs. Patmore."

"Please," The older woman shook her head in disbelief, "We're practically partners in crime by this point. You can call me Beryl when Mr. Carson isn't around."

Linda valiantly tried to protest the matter, but an obstinate look had the assistant giving up in seconds, "All right, _Beryl_."

"That's more like it! Now, what are we planning to do about _all that?_ " Ah, yes. The infamous gown that mocked them almost every day. No doubt the real reason Beryl had dropped by when the others were gone.

Linda really did have half a mind to chuck it out the window, the urge expanding each and every Friday afternoon. Nevertheless, she was well aware of the consequences for such an action.

"You know we can't do anything, you heard Mrs. Hughes."

"She said we couldn't burn the thing or destroy it. She said nothing about misplacing it or moving it out of the closet."

"Mrs. Patmore," Linda began to lecture the woman, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' principles having rubbed off after all this time. But there was an idea sparking to life at the thought –– one that dug a hole right through the moral high ground, "Mrs. Patmore, you're brilliant!"

"'Course I am!" She then sharply looked at the assistant, "But why do _you_ think so?"

_._

**12:22 p.m**

William knew that Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Miss Vance were all busy these days with the wedding less than three months away and all the shows left to go through. This was all on top of the solo competition later this week.

But, see, the solo competition was why he was up here during lunch.

He'd just gotten a little help from Miss Vance on his solo –– the teaching assistant had told him the two teachers weren't available –– but he still wanted a little advice from Mrs. Hughes. She always knew what to say, being able to help him put aside the butterflies in his stomach.

Or, in her own words, make those butterflies fly in formation.

So, even though he should be on his way back to lunch because he already finished rehearsing for the lunch period, William remained on the second fourth floor. He really wanted a chance to speak with the woman. He knew she was busy, doing something with Mr. Carson in 403, but the tenor could wait for her to emerge.

In fact, he would wait right outside 403. He was completely fine with waiting and–– and hearing it was that kept them busy.

" _You've changed. You're daring.  
You're different in the woods."_

That was certainly Mrs. Hughes singing, though the student didn't know who she was speaking to. Mr. Carson, probably?

" _More sure. More sharing._

_You're getting us through––_ Charles, are you all right?"

William's eyes widened, not used to her speaking like that.

"It's just," The choir director paused, his voice muffled by the door, "Are you sure you're comfortable using two songs from _Into the Woods_? Only, I remember how adamant you were about keeping everything unique."

So _that's_ why they haven't repeated any musicals in the show. William had noticed that about the songs selection, thinking it was really cool each song was unique. He continued to lean up against the door, unable to help himself. Last year, he wouldn't have dared to be anywhere near this audacious. But times have changed and so had he.

"Charles, I gave up that idea when we started singing with Alice Neal. Besides, this isn't going to make it into the show, no one will be the wiser."

The young tenor froze at the sound of Mrs. Hughes speaking like that. So candidly, so intimately, with no true sense of that infamous diplomacy of hers.

He liked it.

And, of course, he would get a kick out of Mr. Carson's response:

"I don't know, Elsie. I wouldn't put it past Mrs. Crawley to request it be added in at the last second." The tenor's jaw plummeted toward the ground at the carefree tease, never his choir director sound so at ease.

Though, there was that one time last fall. In Mrs. Hughes' first semester, there was a day where the pair had been coming up the stairs, when they'd––

He couldn't remember the conversation he'd overheard. But it didn't matter.

"Is there someone outside, Mr. Carson?" The tenor had been spotted, breaking the mood of the conversation. "Is that William?"

Maybe he shouldn't have waited around, not if it meant interrupting whatever this was.

_._

**Friday, the 27th of March, 2020**

**9:13 a.m**

"I still can't believe the solo competition is only _a day_ away!" Daisy Robinson whispered to the teen sitting to her left.

"At least we don't have to deal with that _and_ the 'Best of Downton'" Ivy Stuart reminded her, cringing at the very thought. It would be too much to handle, having to compete and then perform for the school all in the same weekend.

"Well, I don't know about you," Daisy started up, now irritatedly turning toward the fellow singer, "But I'd've liked to have been in both!"

"Well," Ivy echoed, narrowing her eyes. "I would've, too, you know! All I'm saying is that it'd be a lot of work––"

"And all _I'm_ saying is that you both better stop disrupting my class!" Really, as a band director, she had much better things to be doing with her time than lecturing her students.

Besides, _don't you two hate each other?_

_._

**5:27 p.m.**

" _Will I ever tell you?_

_Ah, no." "Lida Rose, oh Lida Rose, oh Lida Rose,"_

Each singer in the faculty group clung onto the _de_ _crescendo_ as they finished the song, the group having adjusted to everyone's individual sound. Professional, at least from a glance, they all ended the song with great enthusiasm.

Jack Ross clapped his approval for all to hear, grinning, "That was brilliant, really spot on!"

"I don't know Jack," No one was surprised to hear Alice begin to speak, "Are you sure we should end the song like this?"

In a traditional barbershop set-up, small groups of singers would stand in a half circle. Baritones and tenors would take their respective positions on the outskirts of the formation, leads and basses standing in the center of the circle.

For this, Jack Ross had different plans. He would let them get away with the set-up for "It's You", having conceded that the song was charming enough to not require any additional choreography. However, for "Lida Rose", the choreographer had insisted on more. He wouldn't put them through anything like what he'd planned for "42nd Street" but they would do more than stand in a half-circle and look starstruck over what they were singing.

And thus, his brilliant plan that –– surprise, surprise –– Alice Neal was still rejecting….

_._

_**Friday, the 14th of February, 2020** _

_**4:51 p.m.** _

" _Now, normally, the gentlemen would stay to the side when you all sing together for the final piece of the song. However," With a grin growing at the very idea, "I think you're all capable of changing the game a little."_

" _What did you have in mind?" Phoebe curiously asked, having been too caught up in the nostalgia of the enchanting song she'd forgotten he would soon explain himself._

" _I'm glad you asked, Phoebe." Charmingly smiling at the now blushing teacher, "Ladies, I would like you all to gracefully walk over to the gentleman singing your part and join his side when we go into the last part of the piece. Then, for right now, I'd like you to link arms, sway with one another, anything you feel will convey the love of the song."_

_It was simple, true. But it would add a little something to the performance, which was all the choreographer was asking for._

" _But, Jack," Alice began to protest, immediately realizing who would be with whom, "If there's seven women and four men, won't that look strange on stage? Besides, that's three women for Charlie –– he sings lead. How would that work?"_

_Having anticipated such a response, "When it comes to the leads, all that would take is someone joining up with the tenors to even out the bunch. Joyce, would you be able to?"_

_"Certainly!"_

_He nodded, pleased, "Alice, I've a feeling it'll work out. But that's why we're trying it out today. Now, ladies, if you could sing your last few measures before everyone's singing together, starting from 'Will I ever tell you?'."_

" _Of course," Phoebe responded, using the fact that she was one of the leads to get everyone focused. And making sure that everyone was once again ready to sing, she shared a glance with Alice and Joyce before the trio breathed in unison –– being sure to smoothly cue everyone else in._

"Will I ever tell you?

Ah, no."

_Practically wafting through the air as they carried out the chord, the seven women began to elegantly split up and join the various sides of their respective counterparts._ _Linda and Joyce joined Anthony on the far stage-left, quietly persuading him to come back closer to the center of the stage. Alice and Phoebe linked arms with Charlie, the man looking incredibly pleased with himself while the two women seemed to only be vaguely humouring him. Francesca joined Dicke on the far stage-right area, nudging him back into the spotlight with a slight twinkle in her eyes –– recognizing their shared desire to stay out of the limelight if at all possible._

_And as for the female basses of the bunch?_

_As for Elsie and Beryl, the two teachers refinedly joined their fellow bass where he stood. The band director easily linked arms with Mr. Carson, gleefully grinning at how his smile became significantly strained as she did so. On the literal other hand, the choir teacher chose to gently grasp her fiancé's hand instead of anything too ostentatious. Grinning at the fact that she could do all of this in the name of music, she proceeded to bask in the fact that this was actually expected in the case of this song._

"Lida Rose,

"Oh, Lida Rose,

"Oh, Lida Rose,"

_Jack hopped off the stage and observed from the house seats for this bit, wanting to get an accurate assessment of the performance. And as he watched the ten teachers tenderly sway and swing across the stage, starting to ease into their new positions in the spotlight, he couldn't help but recognize that he'd been right._

"Dream of now," "Lida Rose, I'm home again, Rose, again,

"Dream of then," "To get the sun back in the sky,"

"Dream of a love song" "Lida Rose, I'm home again, Rose,"

"That might have been," "About a thousand kisses shy,"

_There was an adorable quality to the piece that was only heightened by each part acting in this fashion. And that quality took the song a step further, helping to liven up the sweet tone as all eleven individuals began to truly take on their respective roles._

"Do I love you?" "Ding dong ding,"

"Oh, yes, I love you!" "I can hear the chapel bells chime!"

"And I'll bravely tell you," "Ding dong ding,"

"But only when we dream again," "At the least suggestion, I'll pop the question!"

_Jack Ross was, without a trace of doubt, a genius._

_._

**Friday, the 27th of March, 2020**

**5:27 p.m.**

"I personally think it's lovely," Joyce Barnaby defended the choreographer against Alice, not the man needed it. That didn't stop him from smiling in appreciation, "I wouldn't change a thing!"

"But, if we were to change things," The Center choir teacher continued, as though she hadn't been shot down by Midsomer's director, "I really think––"

"Seeing as how we are only _five_ rehearsals from the show, we will be adhering to what has been thoughtfully planned out by Mr. Ross." Mr. Carson bluntly interrupted his former friend, having lost his patience after her seventh complaint.

"And speaking of shows, the 'Best of Downton' is less than two hours away," Because Beryl Patmore was in no mood to discuss this any longer, "We'll have to cut this rehearsal early, just like we agreed earlier."

"I am still _shocked_ that our group hadn't been invited to perform for the 'Best of Downton'––"

"Yes, well," Dickie was also losing his patience with the woman, "It is the 'Best of _Downton_ ', not the Yorkshire county."

"Shall we let you four escape then?" Joyce chimed in, a knowing glint in her eyes. In the distance, the head of Grey Institute was beginning to banter with Alice, unable to remain composed.

The Downton staff could only gratefully smile at Joyce's question, relieved to have a way out of this conversation.

Or, rather, smiling was all the _choir_ staff of Downton could do.

The band director thought it would be more peachy to give an honest response, "Works for us! Now, didn't you two say you were meeting your students before the show?"

"That's right," Mrs. Hughes confirmed, unsure of where her friend was going, "But––"

"Then why are you still here? You should never keep Mary Crawley waiting! Sybil and Gwen will be all right, but I can only imagine what Mary'll be like now that we're late. And Thomas Barrow should never be left to his own devices, you know that!"

Little did the others know, the two teachers weren't supposed to meet with their students for another hour.

"I really must insist––"

"Oh, look at the time. So sorry," It was with a barely concealed twinkle in his eye that Jack Ross watched Beryl Patmore unapologetically shove her three other colleagues toward the exit, "But we can't afford to stay. Feel free to drop by and see the show if you can!"

_._

**6:26 p.m.**

Thomas had barely made it to where Mr. Carson and Miss Vance were waiting for him, remembering the correct meeting time at the last second. He'd been distracted by video chatting Danny, having forgotten everything else in the process. But the baritone was focused now. He could even observe Mrs. Hughes' voice all the way from the top of the stairs, "We'll be right down, Mr. Carson!"

This wasn't the first time Thomas wondered why on earth the architects of this school thought it'd be clever to have _two_ fourth floors in one building. Yes, it meant that the choir rooms were secluded and not distracted by other classes, but it also meant it was stupidly complicated getting around this part of the school –– seeing as how this was one of only two stairwells that led to the choir rooms.

But before he could bemoan the fact any further, he heard footsteps echoing down the stairwell. Soon enough, Gwen and Sybil were coming into sight –– the ladies having prepared a lovely duet from the musical _Sideshow._ Dressed in customary concert attire, the two were making sure to thoroughly emulate their characters: a pair of twins literally glued at the hip.

Mary regally followed, wearing a stunning white ball gown that emulated the movie version of the musical she would be singing from. Mr. Carson had given the soprano a chance to emulate Christine Daae, the ingenue of the well-known _Phantom of the Opera_. Frankly, Mary looked to be taking full advantage of this opportunity –– dressing extravagantly for what was supposed to be a simple performance.

Yes, Mary's was certainly the show stopping outfit of the lot.

But there was another outfit that snatched Thomas' attention.

One that was simpler in style but as eye-catching at the young soprano's for entirely different reasons.

"It felt like the most appropriate dress to wear tonight. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Carson?"

Mrs. Hughes had finally arrived, her beautiful blue gown reminding Thomas of the ocean at its finest. The baritone felt as though he'd seen it before, but he couldn't remember where. Only that the dress had stolen his attention whenever he last saw it and it would again tonight.

But more importantly: was the teacher _flirting_ with Mr. Carson? In front of students, no less? There was definitely a mischievous quality, a teasing intimacy, one that threaded itself into her words.

"I do." That the choir director was responding quite seriously to the tease, that his eyes are lit with an impassioned knowledge, made Thomas give up on trying to figure out what was going on. He only wanted to notice what they were referring to, what esoteric memory was flickering back to life right here and now.

"Well, let's not keep them waiting." The Scot lightly chided everyone into moving, as though this were an everyday occurrence. "Mrs. Crawley is expecting us any minute now."

Right.

They had a show to put on.

A show that, in the course of a minute, Thomas'd forgotten all about.

Here was hoping he still remembered his lyrics.

_._

**8:42 p.m.**

Applause. A quintet of bows, the musicians' instruments tucked safely away. Not the final act, but close. Silence. Confusion over if the last act would indeed perform. A sense of déjà vu for those who were here last year, bewilderment for those attending for the first time.

A flash of movement behind a velvet curtain. Three individuals emerging from the shadows, an older duet leading a third. The youngest, a lady, confidently took her place at the piano's bench. The man, poised alongside the piano, bemusedly stared out into the crowd. The final member of the group, a woman adorned in shimmers of cerulean and cobalt, maintained a distance from the others. Her eyes held a longing only matched by her partner. Their gazes wouldn't meet. Not yet.

An exquisite piano key was struck, a soft cue given.

A simple, enthralling song descended.

_._

**9:01 p.m.**

_"You've changed. You're daring._

_You're different in the woods."_

A smile trickled through Elsie's eyes, the simple melody reaching out to caress her man even at this distance.

_"More sure. More sharing._

_You're getting us through the woods."_

Pure fondness now floated through her voice, the type that came from more than a mere act.

_"If you could see ––_

_You're not the man who started,_

_And more much open-hearted_

_Than I knew you to be."_

Charles turned to her, a love in his demeanour that could be seen all the way from the back of the auditorium. For them, no one else existed. Not when this song began and certainly not now when he was beginning to take charge of the lyrics.

_"It takes two._

_I thought one was enough, it's not true:_

_It takes two of us."_

A hand rose to reach out to her, the man taking a step toward her, joy tracing every movement. As though he finally saw her, finally realized what opportunities stood before him.

_"You came through_

_When the journey was rough._

_It took you._

_It took two of us."_

He was offering much more than the chance to hold hands.

Something she was well aware of.

Something she had long since accepted.

_"It takes care._

_It takes patience and fear and despair_

_To change."_

There seemed to be several conversations sweeping about the stage. The story of the song itself, the story for them. All wove together, indistinguishable.

_"Though you swear to change,_

_Who can tell if you do?_

_It takes two."_

She nodded at him, taking her own step in his direction, beginning to reach out.

_"You've changed._

_You're thriving._

_There's something about the woods."_

The pair had every intention of looking out into the crowd, of practicing the minimalist choreography they'd planned for this. There hadn't been much time to sketch out an act, but they had wanted to do more than simply look out into the crowd.

_"Not just surviving._

_You're blossoming in the woods."_

All of those intentions lay forgotten in the face of this.

_"At home I'd fear_

_We'd stay the same forever._

_And then, out here,_

_Your passionate, charming, considerate, clever––"_

Their hands touched, the sensation electrifying _ **.**_

_"It takes one to begin,_

_But then once you've begun,_

_It takes two of you."_

They finally remembered their audience. He turned back to the crowd, inwardly sheepish. They'd almost forgotten the show. Almost forgotten what they still needed to do.

_"It's no fun,_

_But what needs to be done_

_You can do when there's two of you."_

Right. It wasn't proper but Charles was tired of looking solely into the crowd. He only had eyes for her and he was done pretending otherwise.

_"If I dare,"_ He reached out once more, a plan weaving itself into his grasp.

_"It's because I'm becoming,"_ She took it within one tender heartbeat, trusting him. _"Aware of us."_

" _As a pair of us,"_ It was time to put his plan into action.

" _Each accepting a share,"_ Charles wasted no time twirling her into his arms –– his actions chaste but intentionally romantic. Far more than what he needed to do as a singer. Much more than what was expected of him on stage. Exactly what he'd craved. " _Of what's there."_

Elsie hid her shock well, beaming as their harmony began.

_"We've changed._

_We're strangers,_

_I'm meeting you in the woods."_

He twirled her out of his arms once more throughout this, the pair radiating tenderness. Maybe their woods had been understanding each other in the beginning, learning one another's principles and preferences. It might have been dealing with Emma Butte and that whole fiasco. Perhaps it had been the loss of good people, navigating that awful grief.

Whatever it was, whatever it had been, they truly had come together.

_"Who minds,_

_What dangers?_

_I know we'll get past the woods."_

Every obstacle they came up against, they went at it together. Maybe they couldn't always win, but they could certainly remain determined to be partners in the face of everything that crossed their path.

_"And once we're passed_

_Let's hope the changes last."_

There was no doubt those changes of theirs would last. His trust in her and himself, her confidence that they could enjoy every part of this, all of it.

_"Beyond woods,_

_Beyond witches and slippers and hoods,_

_Just the two of us."_

Charles gripped her hand without a care in the world, thinking this to be beyond perfect.

_"Beyond lies,_

_Safe at home with our beautiful prize,_

_Just a few of us."_

Elsie could only do the same, in absolute agreement.

_"It takes trust,_

_It takes just a bit more and we're done."_

Another plan was coming, this time sneaking into her mind. One that tickled her the moment she concocted it, inspired by the original Broadway performance.

_"We want four, we had none,_

_We've got three."_

Elsie let go of his hand, taking the opportunity to tap Charles on the shoulder as she slipped behind him. Her fiancée turned, faithfully following her lead and turning back toward her as she tapped him on the other shoulder –– garnering an endearing curiosity from both him and the crowd.

_"We need one,_

_It takes two."_

Seeing as how they were to be married in less than three months, Elsie felt it was quite acceptable to gesture to him, to discreetly request he bestow a kiss upon her cheek as they held out the final note. The man looked happily stunned at the suggestion, unable to hold back a delighted smile as he leaned in.

When she turned at the last second, audaciously bestowing a proper kiss upon him instead, Charles couldn't help but sigh in contentment, deepening the kiss and going so far as to gently dip her in his arms.

That the whole audience was exploding with approval, an unswerving ovation standing just for them, was only the icing on the cake.

_._

**9:47 p.m.**

"Well now," The murmur strolled alongside the couple, accompanied by arms happily entwining at _lento_. "I'd call that a success."

"Oh, I think that went all right." The cheeky response only had her delivering a certain look in his direction, "The soprano in that last act was magnificent."

"As was the bass who took on a baritone's role," She informed her future husband, bursting with pride, "They certainly proved it takes two."

"Indeed." He smiled at his future wife, never having believed such a performance was possible, "Now all they need to do is make it through tomorrow."

"Charlie," His smile widened, "Hosting was easy enough and we'd never done that before, not together. But, helping our students compete? We're old hands at that."

"That we are." The _fermata_ that blanketed them was comfortable, languid. "I suppose we can let all that wait until tomorrow."

"Charles Ernest Carson," Needless to say, she was amazed by the suggestion, "Are you suggesting we refrain from stressing over something we've no control over?"

"Elsie May Hughes," He smoothly returned the sentiment with a twinkle in his eyes, "That is _exactly_ what I'm suggesting."

"My, my," She muttered to herself, not for the first time that week. "I'm not sure I know how to do that."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Right." The man paused, looking to be seriously thinking the matter over, "Well, I might be able to help you with that…."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm absolutely overdoing the fluff, but needs must, you know?
> 
> As a refresher, because it's been awhile since I Shall Not Sing In Vain: there are two main competitions Downton attends –– one that's meant for choirs of a hundred singers to compete and one for smaller ensembles/soloists.
> 
> As luck (and a certain author) would have it, Downton's hosting the large competition this time around. And so, since none of Downton's choirs wanted to compete in small ensembles, it will only be soloists competing this time around –– something we'll get to "hear" in the next installment.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you have a lovely day!


	15. Impossible Dreams and a Changed World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably already guessed, this chapter's gonna focus mainly on the solo competition! We've got snarky conversations, an incident with a chair, a Triceratops (yes, you read that correctly!), and someone who wants to ditch the day altogether….
> 
> (In other words, would you believe I'm seriously considering doing opening synopses for all of the remaining chapters?)
> 
> Now, serious note: one of the solos is going to deal with an understandably intense musical theatre debate. I won't pretend to have the answer to the debate. I'm only going to present a side that I've heard, a side I think will align with the values of the character speaking it.
> 
> In any case, as per usual, the songs sung today are listed below. I set up a little key to make it more efficient (and hopefully it'll prove to be the case) ––
> 
> **Songs / Musicals / Keywords for Finding Said Song** (in order of appearance) **:**
> 
> "Very Soft Shoes" / _Once Upon a Mattress_ / "Very Soft Shoes Once Upon a Mattress"
> 
> "I Won't Send Roses" / _Mack and Mabel_ / "I Won't Send Roses (from "Mack & & Mabel Original Cast Recording)
> 
> "Maybe This Time" / _Cabaret_ / "Maybe This Time Cabaret"
> 
> "Think of Me" / _Phantom of the Opera_ / "Alison Christopher Soprano Senior Recital, "Think of Me" Phantom of the Opera"
> 
> "The Impossible Dream" / _Man of La Mancha_ / "The impossible dream - Colm Wilkinson"
> 
> "You Don't Know This Man" / _Parade_ / "You Don't Know This Man"
> 
> "A Cockeyed Optimist / _South Pacific_ / "A Cockeyed Optimist"
> 
> "Out There" / _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ / "Out There | The Hunchback of Notre Dame"*
> 
> "Nobody's Chasing Me / _Out of This World_ / "Nobody's Chasing Me (1950) - Dinah Shore"
> 
> "Make Them Hear You / _Ragtime_ / "Make Them Hear You"
> 
> "Singin' in the Rain" / _Singin' in the Rain_ / "Singing in the Rain Gene Kelly"
> 
> "Much More" / _The Fantasticks_ / "Much More - The Fantasticks"
> 
> *= if you want a _**phenomenal**_ _a cappella_ version of "Out There", look up "Ringmasters - Notre Dame medley **REMASTERED AUDIO**" and go ahead to 2:39. The medley as a whole is fantastic and highly recommended, enjoyable whether you know _Hunchback_ or not.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Saturday, the 28th of March, 2020**

**4:18 a.m.**

Never again would Joseph Moseley watch _Jurassic Park_ right before going to bed. He'd been unable to even think about going to bed at his normal hour –– finding himself too wound up about competing tomorrow. Which is how he'd let his mum convince him that _Jurassic Park_ would be a great distraction, seeing as how he'd only seen it maybe once in his entire life.

And, boy, was she right! The movie proved to be quite the distraction for him!

If only it hadn't resulted in a nightmare that'd kept him up since four in the morning.

_._

_**3:57 a.m.** _

_It was some sort of control room –– a room Joseph felt he'd seen just hours before. There were a few computers scattered around, helping to make it look like an important set-up. There was even a metal door, one he realized he was standing right next to. It had more locks on it than the teenager could've ever imagined, only adding to the important vibe._

" _You do plan on singing today, yes?" Looking over to his judge for the first time, Joseph gaped at the sight of a Triceratops sitting behind a table, the creature staring him down all the way from the center of the room. With horn-rimmed glasses tilted in a bored manner, he couldn't start to guess just how unimpressed she was with him. "Or were you planning to emulate a codfish instead?"_

" _I–– I'm here to sing my solo, yes."_

" _Oh, excellent." Her sarcasm was as heavy as the tension in his body, "Please lock the door behind you and step forward."_

_Joseph wanted to ask about his accompaniment, not seeing any keyboard or piano in sight, but he kept quiet. Instead, the baritone turned back to the door, trying to move the locks into place. But they looked to be computer activated, refusing to budge even after multiple efforts that winded him._

" _Or not." The Triceratops heaved out a disappointed breath, giving up on that instruction. "Just leave it alone and step forward."_

" _Right." Turning back to his judge, knowing he wasn't making a good impression so far, the baritone opted to awkwardly step further into the room, toward the spot in the center she was brusquely gesturing at._

" _Is this really how you intend to present yourself?" For the first time in his life, Joseph Moseley was innumerably grateful for Mr. Carson. Turning back toward the entrance door, the baritone let out a shriek at the sight of a Velicoraptor standing inches away. But where was Mr. Carson? "It may be your first competitive solo, but that's no way to present yourself, Mr. Moseley!"_

" _My God." Joseph whispered, shocked. The Raptor before him_ _ **was**_ _Mr. Carson!_

" _Is there something you wish to share, Mr. Moseley?" Raptor-Carson and the judge spoke in unison, vexation beginning to mark itself in their tones._

" _No–– no–– nothing!"_

" _Good."_

_Raptor-Carson proceeded to hold out the paper that would save or break Joseph's day: the scoring sheet for his solo. But before the teenager could grab the sheet and present it to the judge the choir-director-turned-dinosaur brought it out of reach, "And do you know what you will be singing today?"_

" _Erm, yeah?" The baritone would need a minute to remember but he'd been practicing this for weeks –– he totally knew what he was doing._

_Sorta._

" _Really?" Raptor-Carson asked, taking a vicious step toward the baritone. Did Joseph hear glee in his teacher's voice or was he just hallucinating? "Please, share."_

" _Erm," The baritone weakly repeated, his mind dreadfully blank, "I'm singing 'Very Soft Shoes' from_ Once Upon a Mattress _."_

" _Wrong, Mr. Moseley." The choir director ripped the scoring sheet in half. "That's William's song."_

"' _I Won't Send Roses' from_ Mack and Mabel _?"_

_Another rip. "Septimus Spratt's. Try again."_

Uh, "' _Maybe This Time'? From_ Cabaret _? But," He was remembering something! Finally! And in an effort to show he actually knew his stuff, "The song's not from the Original Broadway show, having been incorporated into the 1972 film starring––"_

" _Your knowledge of_ Cabaret _is somewhat impressive." The judge tersely interrupted, "But I doubt you're a soprano in disguise."_

" _Quite correct." Raptor-Carson chimed in before he released a patented sigh, tutting away as he drew nearer. And soundly ripping the scoring sheet one final time, letting the paper plummet from his claws, "For Miss Blatherwick, that is. Mr. Moseley, you are, once again, wrong: that is Rose's song."_

" _Oh." Why couldn't he remember his own song? Why was his memory failing him now?_

" _I'm afraid there's only one solution for such incompetence."_

" _I–– I don't get to compete again?" Joseph would take that over the other "solution" coming to mind!_

" _I'm afraid that's too mild a solution, Mr. Moseley." Seriously, the choir director never called him that unless he was in a whole lot of trouble. But Joseph didn't want to point that out, not on the off chance it got him eaten. "It wouldn't enrich the lives of our students. Nor would it be enough to exemplify the importance of knowing one's material."_

" _Erm," He really didn't want to know the answer to this, "Then, what_ _**is**_ _your 'solution', Mr. Carson?"_

" _I'm so glad you asked," Was the dinosaur now smirking, a malicious glint in his eyes? "Mrs. Hughes finds it a little excessive, but I find it's perfectly acceptable in circumstances such as these…"_

_._

**7:22 a.m**

The previous evening may have been a success for the two teachers, but the consequence of such a triumph meant that they'd slept through both of their alarms for the first time in months. Yes, it was only the innate sense of tardiness that caused Charles Carson to roll halfway over in bed, sparing a bleary-eyed glance in the direction of the clock.

"Elsie!" But his fiancée merely snuggled deeper into the covers at the panic, "It's 7:22! In the morning!"

"That's nice, Charlie," Having not rested this much in weeks, she reached out to him, hoping to entice the man into staying in bed for a little while longer. Although she had no real plan in regards to keeping them here, it was a Saturday and she was all for enjoying the fact that Saturdays were their days off.

"Elsie," Charles repeated, tempted despite himself. But he knew she would kick herself for forgetting. Not to mention the fact that they could never abandon their students. "Beryl'll be coming by in twenty minutes."

"My, my." Playfully looking at him whilst half-buried under the delightful covers, convinced her best friend would understand cancelling any plans for today, "Well, I'm sure she'll understand if we decide to take the day for ourselves."

"She might," He conceded, "But I'm not sure our students will."

"'Our students'?" Pushing the covers out of her face, Elsie craned her neck in the direction of the clock. When seeing the time didn't help put the pieces together, "What do our students have to do with today?"

"Honestly?" He couldn't help the chuckle, inwardly recognizing they should be bolting around by now. But, really, Charles was tickled by the fact that Elsie had forgotten all about her specialty: solos. "Everything."

_._

**9:17 a.m.**

"It's just like we told you all before" William Mason was more than a little exasperated, seeing as how all the soloists spent a good part of their afternoon explaining everything –– how to introduce your song, the set-up of the competition itself, everything.

"So I heard." It seemed Alfred Nugent was just as frustrated as he confessed the truth, "But I was sick when you guys had that meeting, I couldn't go."

"Fair enough." The tenor didn't really want to repeat everything, but he would for his classmate. He'd been in a similar place last year, so he did understand. "Well, each classroom on this floor has been given to a judge. Everyone competing –– whether they're a small ensemble or a soloist –– will walk into the classroom they've been assigned to, announce themselves to the judge, perform their song, and be given their scoring right afterwards."

"Cool." Alfred casually remarked, nodding along. "So, is it just one-on-one, me and the judge and whoever's playing my accompaniment?"

"No, anyone can sit in on it –– friends, family, anyone."

"Okay. So, do we just wait out in the halls before we sing? I only got here a few minutes ago and I didn't see Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes anywhere."

Now William was getting a little frustrated, even if he understood Alfred's ignorance, "Every competing school has been given a classroom for their soloists and ensembles. That way, we can all rehearse and warm-up without bothering anyone.

"And that's all there is to it?" Not really. There were beautiful nuances to the whole process that William was only now understanding. But the tenor had a feeling Alfred only needed the basics to it all.

Which meant that his answer was simple and to the point: "That's it."

_._

**9:24 a.m.**

"So, Mr. Carson took on the form of a Velicoraptor in your dream?"

Phyllis hadn't had a chance to talk to Joseph before now. But once she realized how exhausted her boyfriend was, the alto could only be concerned for him.

"Yes." Joseph nervously looked around, as though Mr. Carson could come out of nowhere and reappeared as a Velicoraptor once again, confirming her suspicion that he would need a nap after all of this. Preferably in her arms so as to ensure her baritone really was napping, of course.

_Focus, Phyllis._ "And then Mr. Carson proceeded to not only destroy your scoring sheet, but he also went on to… eat you?"

"Exactly!"

Yeah, a nap was definitely in order for her boyfriend, that much was clear. "That's really quite the–– the–– the _unique_ dream, Joseph."

"You're telling me!"

_._

**9:31 a.m.**

Mary Crawley was a refined young woman with a graceful sense of movement. She was a fairly experienced soprano –– experienced for her age, that is –– who knew her way around the stage. She was most certainly _not_ the type of person to accidentally smack into a chair upon seeing Charles Blake in the room, taken aback by her friend's unexpected appearance.

"Good morning." The soprano primly handed off her scoring sheet and brought herself to the appropriate spot, as though there hadn't been a minor collision with a chair. "My name is Mary Crawley and I will be singing 'Think Of Me' from _Phantom of the Opera_. The music was composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber, the lyrics written by Charles Hart."

The judge nodded, marking something on the scoring sheet. Only when he nodded again, gesturing for the soprano to start, did she signal to the accompaniment that she was ready to perform.

" _Think of me,"_ Mary had to resist the urge to rub her leg, the bloody thing aching from the accident, " _Think of me fondly when we say goodbye,"_

The collision will cost her a perfect score, which meant she wouldn't be performing her solo at the showcase in May. There'd be the showcase designed solely for all soloists, but it just wouldn't be the same.

" _Remember me,_

_Once in a while,"_

She should've been irritated, vexed even. But, and this was the strangest thing about it all, every time she wanted to glare at Charles Blake for being the cause of her collision, Mary could only feel flustered –– turning her attention back to performing as though nothing had occurred.

" _Please, promise me you'll try."_

Her voice grandly arched through the notes, sustaining itself beautifully as she continued –– the very proof of her point. Mary knew she deserved the highest rating, regardless of what the judge would inevitably say.

" _When you find,_

_That, once again, you long_

_To take your heart back and be free,"_

If only those chairs hadn't been stacked so carelessly near the entrance, it was absolutely _not_ her fault! But if she focused on those chairs and not these lyrics, she would not convey anything. Therefore, it was time to draw herself back into the message of the song.

" _If you ever find a moment,"_

There once was a time where she had the _slightest_ of crushes on her cousin Matthew –– not that she ever told him or anyone else. She knew very well that he was family, but there had been something there. Something that told her, had history been different and they weren't family, they might've had something.

" _Spare a thought for me."_

It wasn't a thought she cared to indulge in these days. Firstly, the idea of dating her cousin was strange, especially when she gave it proper thought. Secondly, she also felt she'd moved on past that crush of hers.

" _We never said our love was evergreen,"_

And that was what she had told herself until the day she realized she really had moved on.

" _Or as unchanging as the sea,"_

Mary didn't know how to describe the feelings she had toward Charles Blake. She didn't know if their moments spent together would lead into anything proper. But, and this was what she was beginning to finally accept, she did like him.

" _But if you can still remember,"_

And the fact that he was here today, supporting her when he could've spent the morning rehearsing his own solo, did mean more than she could say.

" _Stop and think of me."_

Though she still could've done without the chair bit.

_._

**9:43 a.m.**

"Isn't it just _awful_ Jimmy couldn't be here today?" Laura Foster sarcastically put the question forth, having no desire to hold back her smirk. She liked pretty much everyone in the choirs, but that tenor's attitude pushed the soprano past her limits.

"Oh, yeah." Robert Thompson couldn't do much more than say that before deep-throated chuckles broke away from his, giving his real opinion away in seconds. "Just awful."

"Miss Foster, Mr. Thompson," Both students froze at the sound of Mr. Carson's atypical formality, knowing that the choir director had overheard the exchange. "Would you care to rethink your opinions on the subject? I'm sure you would never intentionally speak about another fellow singer in such a fashion."

"Of course, Mr. Carson!" "You're so right, Mr. Carson!"

Their director stared them down, eventually ascertaining that they were sufficiently apologetic.

Unbeknownst to the pair, he agreed with them. However, it would never do to encourage that sort of talk, and he would _never_ mention that in front of his fiancée. As it stood, he had barely convinced the woman that Jimmy was undeserving of a solo due to his petulant attitude.

Therefore, any comments that resembled those of Miss Foster's and Mr. Thompson's were strictly forbidden –– no matter what he personally believed.

_._

**9:51 a.m.**

Matthew Crawley had stepped into the classroom with the air of someone who knew exactly what he needed to do. He had introduced himself and his song with a confident tone, making sure to speak a strong _mezzo-forte_ that ensured everyone knew what he was singing. And with determination giving his lungs a spacious strength, he started to perform his first official solo at Downton Academy.

" _To dream the impossible dream,_

_To fight the unbeatable foe,"_

Focusing on the wall in front of him, looking past the judge that observed him, Matthew bit back a smile as he concentrated on being the best unicorn he could possibly be.

_"To bear with unbearable sorrow,_

_To run where the brave dare not go!"_

Marlene Botto, one of his favourite instructors from the time spent in Chicago, really knew her stuff when she imparted that metaphor –– it heightened his awareness of his posture, helping him maintain solid breath support.

" _To right the unrightable wrong,"_ Mentally stepping away from his technique, the tenor couldn't help but think of Alice Neal and Emma Butte and all the other people in the world that thought they could get away with being cruel.

" _To love pure and chaste from afar,"_ Blue eyes did not risk looking out at one listener in particular, not wanting to give his feelings away in front of this crowd.

" _To try when your arms are too weary,"_ Truthfully, researching the _Man of La Mancha_ had been depressing. This song itself, a tune he'd initially found to be inspiring, had darkened in his eyes after looking into the whole context.

" _To reach the unreachable star!"_

But that was why it was important to do this right. To give it all his best and refuse to back down from his first official solo at Downton.

" _This is my quest,_

_To follow that star!_

_No matter how hopeless,_

_No matter how far!"_

And he would. His voice would faithfully follow the music, emphasizing the heart of the piece, the reason why he'd originally fallen in love with it.

" _To fight for the right without question or pause._

_To be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause!"_

Matthew's cadence had sharpened, trudging through each and every word. His voice reached out effortlessly, grasping for the reality behind this quest.

" _And I know,_

_If I only stay true,_

_To this glorious quest,"_

_Decrescendoing_ with a knowledge he couldn't explain, his voice quieted with a resolved understanding.

" _Then my heart will lie peaceful and calm_

_When I'm laid to my rest."_

Death petrified him from time to time. But the tenor knew there were worse things. He also recognized that the best thing he could do was face every day as it came, and keep on going.

" _And the world will be better for this._

_That one man scorned and covered in scars,"_

Matthew was singing in tandem with the accompaniment, a sense of renewed purpose flooding the room.

" _Still strove with his last ounce of courage,_

_To reach the unreachable stars!"_

Power had taken those last lyrics up to _forte_ , but a different sort of strength held out the final notes.

**_._**

**9:54 a.m.**

"I know it's ridiculous to think a dinosaur will just come out of nowhere and eat me, Mrs. Hughes, but I honestly don't know what to expect! It _is_ my first solo, after all."

Elsie never imagined she would be talking to Joseph Moseley about this, "Exactly how many hours of sleep did you say you got?"

The boy was abashed, unwittingly confirming his exhaustion by taking much longer than normal to think it over, "Four?" But that didn't look to be accurate, "Three, maybe?"

"I see." And whilst she did somewhat understand the sentiment, she couldn't comprehend the finer details. Having never seen _Jurassic Park_ , she could only recall her own nightmares and empathize through that. "Well, since Miss Vance will be your accompaniment, Mr. Carson or I will be sure to step in and ensure no dinosaurs of any kind interrupt your solo."

"Erm, could it just be _you_ , Mrs. Hughes and not Mr. Carson? Only–– well,"

This was certainly proving to be a fascinating discussion, "Go on."

"Well, you see, it was Mr. Carson who was the Rapto–– the dinosaur in my dream."

"I see." Elsie wouldn't let any of her amusement show, managing a straight face as the baritone carried on. She would try her best to refrain from mentioning this to Charles and would no doubt succeed in that endeavour. But if she found herself trying to imagine what her fiancé looked like as a dinosaur, and if that image brought peals of laughter to the woman, well, that was her secret to keep.

"Yeah. And obviously, I know Mr. Carson. It's just–– you see, even though Phyllis will already be in the room, seeing as how she'll be singing for that same judge right before me, and that'd normally make everything totally fine, but, well, it's my first solo and I just really don't want anything to go wrong." The baritone gasped for breath, reassuring the woman that he wasn't going to have a collapse due to a lack of oxygen. Not now, at least. "But if you're in the room then _nothing_ can go wrong."

"Well, then." Elsie had the capability to support him and so she would. She personally thought him competent with or without her, but she knew very well what nerves could do in these situations. And she didn't want the teenager to cast aside future solo opportunities just because he had one bad experience. "I'll be sure to be there."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." That he looked like someone who was just saved from death itself only prompted further curiosity –– what was Charles like as a dinosaur? Was it anything like his normal curmudgeon ways?

Regardless, curmudgeonly dinosaurs or not, she had a request to make: "Promise me you'll get at least seven hours of sleep tonight."

"Of course! And I definitely won't be watching _Jurassic Park_ the week of our show!"

**_._**

**10:03 a.m.**

Blonde locks breathed in the melancholic chords as they wafted from the piano. Glassy blue eyes forlornly locked gazes with the space directly in front of the young woman prepared to sing.

" _You don't know this man,_

_You don't know a thing!"_

Wrongful imprisonment. Wrongful imprisonment and righteous words, words that struck wherever they could to land their message. That was what Anna Smith brought with her today.

" _You come here with these horrifying stories,_

_These contemptible conceits,_

_And you say you understand how a man's heart beats,"_

Mrs. Hughes had challenged her this time around, daring the young singer to tap into her anger. To sift through her unspoken pain and grief, the emotions she never shared with others, and hold nothing back.

" _And you don't know a thing!"_

The fact that this song fought for someone else's rights, that it wasn't explicitly about her own problems, only helped to further the soprano's connection to it –– drawing Anna in from the start.

" _You don't know this man,_

_You don't even try!"_

It helped her let go of what happened last spring, the day of the show. Gave her a chance to cry for a reason, to cry and scream and let it all out through these barbed lyrics without giving away her own story.

" _When a man writes his mother every Sunday,_

_Pays his bills before they're due,_

_Works so hard to feed his family,_

_There's your murderer for you!"_

Already, the young woman felt her body begin to lighten –– oblivious to the tears that'd taken hold of her cheeks. Each breath felt freer than the last, a necessary anger fueling her lungs, begging for everything to be finally released.

" _And you stand there spittin' words_

_That you know aren't true!"_

The judge looked to be a little concerned, probably wondering if she should stop this performance, but Anna wouldn't let that stop her.

" _But you don't know this man!_

_I don't think you could!_

_You don't have the right to know,_

_A man that wise and good!"_

Nothing would stop her now.

_._

**10:07 a.m.**

" _I could say life is just a bowl of Jello,_

_And appear more intelligent and smart,"_

Joseph could listen to Phyllis all day. Whether she spoke or sung, her voice always soothed his nerves.

" _But I'm stuck like a dope_

_With a thing called hope."_

He really had lucked out, being scheduled to sing right after her. _And_ in the same room, to boot! It hadn't seemed possible at first. But he'd checked the schedule, and then checked it again, and then did it one more time just to be sure.

" _And I can't get it out of my heart!  
Not this heart…."_

Her voice dipped and softened, eventually quieting. The piano accompaniment faded alongside the sound, and it was only when the silence reached him that Joseph realized it would be _his_ turn to sing soon enough. Yup, right after her scoring sheet had been officially marked, Phyllis was gracefully taking a seat in the classroom right next to her boyfriend, not caring what her score was when she could support him instead.

"See? No dinosaurs in sight." The reassurance didn't reach the baritone, though its words fascinated Miss Vance –– who had played the accompaniment for Baxter and would be doing the same for Moseley.

"Horn-rimmed glasses, though." Joseph miserably noted, looking as though he wanted to cry for reasons neither Miss Vance nor Mrs. Hughes could understand. Not even Phyllis knew what to say to that, the young woman suspecting that only Joseph could get himself out of this by this point. "Just like in the dream."

_._

**10:12 a.m.**

"Hello," Thomas couldn't hold back his beam, trying his best to look directly at the judge and focus on his introduction. His heart still drifted in the direction where Andy and his mum were sat, the pair having managed to sneak a laptop into the proceedings. A laptop that held the live feed of his boyfriend excitedly watching everything in anticipation –– something that the baritone had _not_ been expecting!

Right. He needed to continue if he actually wanted to compete today.

"My name is Thomas Barrow and I will be singing 'Out There' as from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame._ The––" If he didn't get a hold of himself, he just might cry. Tears of understandable shock and joy. But tears, nevertheless. "The song's lyrics were written by Stephen Schwartz and the music was composed by Alan Menken."

The judge acknowledged the introduction, sparing a glance and a faint smile in the direction of the laptop. And seeing as how the scoring sheet was in hand, Mrs. Hughes patiently waiting at the piano, it was time to perform.

Thomas cleared his throat, looking toward the ground and closing his eyes if only so as to somehow remember the character he was to present. Quasimodo was someone kept away from the world, someone who could never connect to the life he was surrounded by. Personally, he wouldn't have had any issue relating to this a year ago.

" _Safe behind these windows and these parapets of stone,_

_Gazing at the people down below me."_

It was going to be a struggle to stay in-character today.

" _All my life I watch them as I hide up here alone._

_Hungry for the histories they show me."_

It was repeatedly striking the teenager that Danny had gotten up _hours_ earlier than he normally did, his endearing sleepiness apparent even from this distance. That his boyfriend had done this, all for a three-minute song that could've been recorded and shared later, it was indescribable.

" _All my life I memorize their faces,_

_Knowing them as they will never know me."_

But Danny's actions were not alone in flooring the baritone. He found himself drawn back to how Andy managed to secretly enlist help, putting this all together. There'd been nothing that gave this surprise away –– no knowing smiles or teasing remarks. Nothing at all to suggest any of this was possible.

" _All my life I wonder how it feels_

_To pass a day not above them,_

_But part of them."_

What did he do to deserve this?

" _And out there,_

_Living in the sun,_

_Give me one day out there."_

Drinking in the sentiment that had settled into the air, he realized this was exactly what it felt to be 'out there'.

" _All I ask is one to hold forever,_

_Out there, where they all live on,"_

There was no need to imagine, not anymore.

" _Where, what I'd give,_

_What I'd dare,_

_Just to live one day out there."_

_._

**10:17 a.m.**

Although she would never admit it, Edith Crawley did regret refraining from traveling abroad last summer. As fun and fulfilling as that writers' convention had been, she felt as though she had missed out on something. Which was part of the reason she let Mrs. Hughes persuade her into taking another solo in the form of this jaunty little ditty.

The other part behind the decision was that, after a mournful piece like "The Lass From the Low Countree", the soprano wanted a literal change in tune.

" _The breeze is chasing the zephyr,"_

As the teacher promised, this was quite the change!

" _The moon is chasing the sea,"_

An older piece from the 20th century, it made for a sprightly key and cheeky melody in which to play with. _Much_ more entertaining than most of the other pieces she'd had to sing other the years!

" _The bull is chasing the heifer,"_

Her voice warmly strolled through all the words, saving the punchline for this next lyric.

" _But nobody's chasing me!"_

Honestly, her typical nerves weren't in sight. With Mrs. Hughes in full control of the piano and her family happily watching her –– yes, even Mary was there to support her sister, much like Edith had been before with "Think of Me" –– it was all so awfully wonderful.

It also helped that a sweet friend she'd met at said writers' conference was in the crowd. That Bertie had made it today, even being able to come out with the Crawley family for lunch afterwards, was perfectly marvelous.

_._

**10:23 a.m.**

" _Go out and tell our stories to your daughters and your sons!_

_Make them hear you!_

_Make them hear you."_

_Ragtime._ A powerful musical that was composed with the African American spirit in mind. Its message and plot had Sybil wondering right from the beginning: Did her boyfriend have the right to sing such a song? She had needed to know what Tom thought, what he felt when he delved into this musical and why he'd decided to stick with after doing proper research.

" _And tell them, in our struggle,_

_We were not the only ones._

_Make them hear you!_

_Make them hear you."_

His answer had been honest, to the point: Tom didn't really know what to think. He couldn't presume to know what was right or wrong, and he didn't want to. All he knew was that the lyrics resonated with him more deeply than he ever imagined. And when he looked into the musical itself, the teenager found the story touched a part of him –– a part that was honoured to bring to life, to give its message to just a few more people.

" _Your sword can a sermon_

_Or the power of the pen!"_

Tom's tone was poignant, the grief and struggle that inspired it emanating. A misery, one that carried an inherent responsibility, one that was determined to lift itself toward a better world, soundly struck the room.

" _Teach every child to raise his voice and then, my brothers, then,_

_Will justice be demanded by ten million righteous men!"_

The _crescendo_ climbed fearlessly into _forte_ –– the force behind it strong, fiercely determined despite his initial hesitation.

" _Make them hear you,"_ The baritone was speaking to anyone who had struggled to raise their voice in life, anyone who felt diminished in their power. _Forte_ had given way to _mezzo-piano_ , a quieter plea to stand up for one's self. " _Make them hear you."_

As the piano accompaniment built once more, so did his volume –– intentionally rising alongside the final sentiments of the piece.

" _When they hear you,"_ Gradually pushing himself one last time, purpose sharply layering the teenager's tone and bringing it toward the depths of _fortissimo_ , " _I'll be near you, again!"_

Tom held the note out for as long as he could, feeling entirely taken over by the song's message as it coaxed him into carrying support for far longer than he thought possible.

Was this right or wrong?

He was getting the feeling that he'd never really know.

But he also knew that bringing this message to more people would encourage curiosity. That it would incite a fire in the minds of others, that people tended to become empowered just by listening to it. They were even likely to track down the song on the Internet, find out the inspiration behind it, honour the original sentiment by delving into it and learning more.

So, with all of that in mind, he couldn't regret it.

_._

**10:47 a.m.**

"Did you hear CJ'll be doing a solo today?" Gladys Denker snarked in the direction of one Septimus Spratt. The young man blushed, stiffening, hoping no one else heard her. Yes, he was insistently keeping that alter-ego a secret after all this time. "I heard she's got a pretty impressive range when it comes to those low notes."

"Really?" He weakly managed, eyes darting around. This was not the time to be giving all that away!

"Yeah." Leaning against the wall, looking straight at her friend, "And I know for a fact it's going to be pretty decent."

Septimus paused. He met her gaze, that blush of his never quite fading –– this time, for entirely different reasons. Coming from Gladys, "pretty decent" was high praise indeed.

"I hope so." The bass eventually responded, "I'm sure she's just as nervous as everyone else."

"Probably," Denker admitted quite candidly, "Good thing she's twice as talented as the lot of them, including that Mary Crawley."

Now _that_ declaration distracted her friend, "Pretty sure that's not true."

"Oh, really? Did you hear that our _prima donna_ 's voice cracked today?"

"No! Really?"

Gladys stared him down, a serious look in her eyes. Septimus leaned in, never seeing her look so candid before. The last time she'd look this serious –– well, it had been a heavy conversation to say the least.

"Nah, it'd never happen, not with her." He rolled his eyes at the confession, inherently knowing it had been too far fetched to be true. "But she did trip into a chair when she saw who was in the classroom."

"Very funny,"

"No, I'm being serious––"

Ah, but the alto had lost all credibility in this conversation. "Uh-huh. And CJ'll be performing live for all of her fans."

Let it be known that Gladys Denker was never one to refrain from taking an opportunity, "Oh, that's _brilliant_! I'll get Rose to help her set that all up! Of course, we'd all need to know who she actually _is_ , but I suppose it won't be too hard to figure it out."

"Now, wait a minute, we were talking about Mary…"

_._

**10:51 a.m**

Andy Parker may have had a hand on the door leading to his next opportunity in life, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. It had been easy enough to support Thomas, but this was _his_ solo now. And it was his first one. Ever. What if Mrs. Butte really had been right about him? What if he really should've left it all alone and this was only going to prove it?

"Excuse me, I'm here for my friend and I need to get through that door before he arrives." Ellie Bell came out of nowhere, looking to be oblivious to his nerves as she continued to playfully inform him, "Goes by the name of Andy Parker –– he's a _brilliant_ tenor. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"

Andy could only look at her in disbelief, before remembering that his friend had technically asked him a question, "Never heard of him."

"Shame. Well, best be off." And discreetly opening the door to the classroom, Ellie ducked inside to take a seat.

He could only stare after her in wonderment, remembering that she'd had her fair share of problems with Mrs. Butte. And if a ridiculously talented girl like Ellie thought that someone like him was "brilliant", well, maybe Mrs. Butte was wrong after all.

_But why did she drop by today? Bel Canto's not competing––_

"Andy?" The tenor turned to Mrs. Hughes, his tension fading even further as his teacher approached. "My apologies for the delay: there'd been a mix-up with the rooms."

"It's all right, Mrs. Hughes." They technically had a minute or two before he was expected inside. And while it wouldn't make a terribly good impression to take a lot more time, he knew it would be okay.

"Well now," His accompanist for the next five minutes held quite an encouraging tone in her lilt, "Are you ready to start 'Singin in the Rain' one more time?"

Andy cracked a grin at the not-so-subtle reference to his solo, finding the question to be exactly what he needed. Without another word, he knew the answer.

"Yes."

_._

**11:38 a.m.**

"Mr. Carson! Mrs. Hughes!" Both teachers looked in the direction of Alfred, having a feeling they knew what the young man would ask next, "Now that we've all finished singing, can you finally tell us who did the best today?"

In other words, _can you tell us who will be singing at the concert?_

The highest ranked female and male soloists of the group always had the chance to sing their entire solo during the spring concert. That was the standard reward for earning the highest score. Yet the difference this year was that the two singers would be able to dress up and go "all out" for their respective solos, if they so desired.

"Alfred," Daisy chided him in embarrassment, "You can't just ask them that, you should know better than that!"

"It's all right, Alfred, Daisy." Although the choir instructors preferred to privately inform the two soloists and inform the class at a later date, someone else always wanted to know. "However, we will be announcing the soloists on Monday, as per tradition."

"But, _why_?" Everyone knew Mr. Carson normally would have protested Alfred's tone. However, everyone watched in disbelief as the director only looked to his fiancée, letting her respond to the question.

"That would be because, regardless of who sings in the showcase, we want today to be about acknowledging how very, _very_ proud we are of each and every one of you." The woman paused, making sure to meet the gaze of every person before her. "Many of you faced an incredibly challenging time last spring. But, despite those challenges, you _all_ have come out of it the better. Something that was proven today. Therefore, no matter the score you were given today, it does not define you. The fact that you took this chance does."

That didn't look to satisfy Alfred, but many other students were nodding in agreement, understanding. A little applause even broke out, causing the woman to blush as she tried to bat the attention away.

"Now, I do believe celebratory group photos are in order?"

_._

**12:15 p.m.**

"You sure you don't want a lift back? Get a bite to eat?"

"Positive."

Beryl meant well, but all this talk of solos had only reminded Elsie of her first mentor. The mentor who had passed away around this time last year, the woman who inspired the teacher to take on singing in any capacity she could. That Charles understood where her thoughts were the moment she mentioned them, that he was willing to step aside from the celebrations and even requested they make their way to the cemetery to pay their respects, made a world of difference.

The band director eyed both choir teachers carefully, trying to ascertain why they'd kindly reject her offer to drive them back. But, having decided long ago never to give too much of her energy into questioning others, Beryl soon gave up on the endeavour.

"All right," She eventually conceded, "But if you change your minds I'm only a phone call away."

The pair nodded at this, respectfully hearing the offer out. However, the train was what they took last year –– it felt fitting to do so again today. Though, they wouldn't let themselves remain stranded this time. She couldn't allow it, not if the timing was to work out.

For the woman had one more idea in mind, one more plan for the day.

"Charles" Elsie quietly spoke up only once they were alone, strolling down the path. Liz's grave laid about an hour away from home, but there one was another grave –– another mentor –– who rested much closer. "Hers is not the only grave I'd like to visit, if that's all right."

The man recognized at once to whom she was referring, suddenly overtaken by a trembling grief.

"I would like that very much, Elsie. Very much indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly shocked that it's been more than a year since her passing. That the other individual, the one who brilliantly mentored some ridiculously talented friends of mine, has been gone for eight months is equally flooring.
> 
> Okay. One final thing before I sign off.
> 
> Because this is the last story in the series, **would you like to see any particular student be featured as a soloist?** If any song in particular (or any character, for that matter) really spoke to you, definitely feel free to mention it.
> 
> In any case, definitely hope you have a lovely day. Until next week!


	16. April Showers and May Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is _all_ about jumping forward in time! We're going to cruise up to what is known as "Tech Week"/"Hell Week" (depends on your opinion of the whole thing). But that's another chapter for another time!
> 
> As for today, we've got: a sneaky scheme, an incensed octet, a discreet dance, a bumbling "ogre", and a fair amount of plotters! Oh, and **a little surprise** waiting for you in the second author's note….
> 
> And, finally, there are two songs mentioned in this chapter! Feel free to look up the phrase "When Words Fail" (from _Shrek the Musical_ ) for Joseph's solo and "Into the Woods - 'Agony'" for the duet referenced by Charles Blake.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Saturday, the 4th of April, 2020**

**9:03 a.m.**

He was the only one awake. They finally had a Saturday for themselves, and they'd both agreed the night prior that there would be no alarms going off at six in the morning, no official plans to go anywhere, nothing.

In short, his plan had gone off like a charm. And his dear fiancée was soundly out, the _pianissimo_ quality of sleep enchanting, coaxing him to remain in bed just a little longer. Surely, with the sun enveloping them in a surreal haze and the peace of mind that came with no obligations, he should have been transfixed, his movements _andantino._

As it happened, _tempo di valse_ was conducting Charles Carson's heartbeat –– shoo-ing the man out of bed and toward the kitchen with nary a thought. The follow-up to his plan, having breakfast in bed, would surely be a wonderful way to start the special day off.

Yes, he felt rather refreshed the first time in weeks, the first _fermata_ in the endless _doppio movimento_ that was this term.

"Right. Let's not overdo it, Charlie," The man muttered to himself, shaking his head in fondness. He needed to focus on stealthily walking past the gleaming surfaces and––

Gleaming surfaces? Swept floors? The normal piles of trivialities sorted through and put away? A flat that actually resembled a flat instead of a tornado?

"Elsie," The choir director dazedly murmured, taking it all in. She knew how much he loved it when things were tidied up and how stressed out he could get when everything was a mess. It just so happened everything had been piling up these last few months, a disarray ever since auditions started. And though they did make an effort to tidy up, it wasn't anything as thorough as this. "When did you have the time?"

Charles could only assume she'd done this after he'd gone to sleep last night, the woman having proclaimed she needed to mark some theory assignments she'd forgotten about. And she'd managed all this without waking him up!

Clearly, breakfast in bed was more than deserved by this point.

That, and a little rain.

After all, this had been the day they'd been ensconced in the school last spring, all thanks to an endless thunderstorm. And, yes, he was well aware that his opinion of thunderstorms had dramatically changed over this last year. Initially, he thought rain to be an unnecessary part of life. But given what it had brought, it had been easy to become a fan of the chaotic weather.

Mind, Charles couldn't fully get behind spending a great deal of time walking about in the rain. That was something he and Elsie would happily differ on.

Even if it did _occasionally_ make the world a little less heavy.

_._

**Tuesday, the 7th of April, 2020**

**10:33 a.m.**

"Is something wrong, Anna?"

"Actually, Mrs. Hughes," Anna had stayed behind, not wanting to ask this question in front of the other students. "I was wondering if I might have a word?"

"Of course." And with another gesture from her teacher, Anna recognized it was time to present her thought.

"It's just," She knew this idea of hers would be pushing a fine line, and not just because of the timing. "Some of the other choir members and I were wondering if–– well, if we could somehow participate in your wedding? Sing a song at your reception or something?"

"My, my," In the distance, a bell signaled the end of the passing period. "Well, that's certainly worth thinking about! But, let's make sure you're not late to your next class first."

"Of course." Anna gave a small smile, "Just let me know when you make a decision. And, either way, congratulations, Mrs. Hughes. We're all so happy for you both."

"Thank you. Now, get going before you get in trouble!"

The young soprano gave a nod at this, swiftly picking up the pace as she headed out of the auditorium. Seeing as how Mrs. Hughes hadn't outright rejected the idea, there definitely was hope for something.

Now it was up to her partner-in-crime to work their magic–– that is, her other partner-in-crime.

John was apparently busy being a sounding board for Phyllis Baxter. The alto and her octet were struggling with something and, last Anna'd heard, they'd been discreetly turning to fellow students for help.

But if she remained focused on that, she'd definitely be late for her next class!

_._

**Thursday, the 9th of April, 2020**

**7:02 p.m.**

"So, will you be planning some sort of," Charles hesitated on the wording, having never encountered this sort of thing before. "Hen do" had been the phrase he'd heard most before, but that'd been mentioned in his presence on a handful of occasions over the years. What if it wasn't the correct phrasing for the era? Worse still, what if he'd gotten the whole thing wrong? "Celebration with Beryl and Becky? To commemorate the wedding?"

Elsie chortled into her pasta, tickled and surprised. Somehow, they'd gone from ruminating over some final musical preparations to this. "Are you referring to a 'hen do'?"

The man nodded, inwardly cringing at how formal his tone had become, "That's correct."

"We hadn't planned anything official, no."

"Really?"

She set aside the food for the moment, trying her best to bite back a tease, "Charlie, the most we'd do is have a nice dinner and then go back to Beryl's flat to watch 'The Great British Bake Off'. There wouldn't be much to plan."

"Well, I still think you should do something." Charles informed her, regaining some of his normal blustery confidence back. "I think you all ought to take a night out and enjoy yourselves."

"And will Albert be taking you out for a stag night?" Elsie knowingly asked, withholding a smirk at her fiancé suddenly had an innocuous coughing fit. "Maybe invite some of your cousins, make it a proper outing?"

His answer was brief, quite firm: "I don't think so."

"I see." Well, at least they had the opportunities if they so wished.

At the start of their plans, figuring out the wedding party had certainly been a _fun_ and _stress-free_ event. _Nothing_ to worry about in the _slightest_. In other words, Elsie had stalled in her decisions because Becky had been her chief bridesmaid in her first wedding, but in a perfect world she would honour both Becky and Beryl by giving them that privilege this time around.

It was only until she'd bemoaned the issue to Isobel Crawley that the administrator pointed out something important. Since it was Elsie's wedding, and her second wedding on top of it, why couldn't she do what she really wanted? Isobel had even gone on to mention she'd heard of a new trend to have a Maid and Matron of Honour in the bridal party, so why couldn't they do just that?

Elsie had been hesitant to do something that atypical, but when it came down to it she knew it was preferable to what'd happen last time. Which had solved her issues but left Charles left to figure out what on earth he'd do for his selection. He wasn't close to any of his cousins, not enough for the man to want any of them for a Best Man. And while he may have known Robert Crawley for quite some time, having bonded over endless meetings, that was an idea that didn't sit right with the director.

It'd taken Beryl asking him point-blank exactly when he was going to ask Albert to be Best Man that Charles realized that was a distinct possibility. And seeing as how he'd found the man to be more of a friend than anyone else lately, it felt like that was the best choice.

"So, no celebrations at all?" It was a facetious probe, one wherein the answer could be presumed. Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the cheek, merely harrumphing into his pasta. When he eventually glanced back at her, unable to help himself, he was shocked to see his fiancée daring to stick her tongue out at him as though they were children.

Later, the man would deny any and all allegations involving that he'd been the one to start the food fight. After all, why would two such distinguished individuals such as themselves resort to such childish frivolities?

_._

**Tuesday the 14th of April, 2020**

**5:17 p.m.**

Why did they agree to this?

Oh, wait.

Did anyone _actually_ agree to this?

She didn't remember saying yes to an extra rehearsal to make up for Easter. And when Abigail had heard some of the other teachers and directors wanted to listen in on the octet's rehearsals, she'd envisioned Mrs. Barnes, Mr. Merton, possibly Mrs. Barnaby, and just maybe Mr. Strallan popping by to give a few tips.

She hadn't planned for three hours of hell.

"Was that supposed to be the baritone part?" Abigail stiffened, not caring to officially acknowledge She-Who-Doesn't-Deserved-To-Be-Named because the woman wasn't worth it. "I know the baritone's known to be a mess, but that was just… spectacularly awful."

Right. David's little plan, filing official complaints with all the heads of the schools to get SWDDTBN booted from the show, was quaint. What they needed was a real scheme. Something that wasn't going to get them in trouble, something that wouldn't trod through academic politics, but something that would take SWDDTBN out of the picture for the whole event, if not the term.

"And may I say that while you, my dear, did wonderfully," Matthew didn't look pleased to be taking compliments from her, especially when it was clear that someone else was about to be insulted, " _You_ certainly struggled to keep up this round. Are you sure you're meant to sing lead? I myself find that only so many are able to handle the role..."

There was one silver lining out of all of this:

SWDDTBN just insulted Penelope Carlisle. Harshly. In front of her peers and teachers. For the _third_ time today.

In other words?

Whatever plan they came up with would have the full backing of Carlisle Institute.

_._

**Thursday, the 16th of April, 2020**

**4:57 p.m.**

"When you said 'Bridal Waltz', you weren't really joking!"

Beryl had thought they'd been giving her a hard time when the two had mentioned the idea all those months ago. She'd pretended to take them at their word, cheekily informing them that she expected to be personally invited to one of these waltz rehearsals in-person.

Well, here she was, having entered through the backstage area.

And there Charles was, tenderly dipping Elsie right on the stage. For the first time in many weeks, they finally looked as though they were the only two in the world, waltzing away to a wonderfully sentimental tune.

All of this was an accomplishment, given the amount of responsibility they tended to take on.

But this wasn't the only thing that had her beaming with pride.

The fact that they had taken the stage for themselves was astonishing. They could have crammed themselves into 402 or 403 to make this rehearsal work, but they had decided to use the best rehearsal space in the school and she couldn't stop from grinning at the sight!

When the pair started to close the remaining distance, truly oblivious to anything else but each other, Beryl respectfully averted her eyes and started to make her way out. The question she'd had for them was simple enough, more of an excuse to drop by and see what they were up to.

But something told the woman that it would be better to wait until tomorrow to ask.

_._

**Friday, the 17th of April, 2020**

**5:48 p.m.**

"If you all could describe today with one word," Harold Lowe began to ask his fellow peers, personally feeling winded by everything, "What word would you use?"

Everyone from the _Into the Woods_ medley had gathered up after-school to casually work on the medley. Since most of the crowd held perfectionistic tendencies, they needed little encouragement to carry out additional rehearsals. And now, after a solid two-and-a-half hours of rehearsal, they were all finally calling it a day –– rightfully so.

"I've got a word or two," Charles Blake eventually piped up when the others seemed too tired to, " _Agony! Beyond power of speech,"_

Peals of laughter began to escape them, almost everyone recognizing the song at once. Only Daisy looked on in confusion, not exactly sure what Charles was referencing.

"You do know that's _not_ in the medley, right?"

"Exactly." The baritone confirmed, dramatically picking the lyrics back up, reaching out as though he were Prince Charming himself, " _When the one thing you want is the only thing out of your reach!"_

And gesturing to the group for some brave soul to snatch up the other half of the duet, Charles was bowled over by the sight of Laura Edmunds summoning a deep breath before giving it a go, " _High in her tower, she sits by the hour,"_

"Some prince!" "I didn't know you could sing tenor!" "You're sure you're a soprano?" "I think Mr. Carson voiced you wrong!"

" _Maintaining her hair!"_ Laura defiantly carried on despite the peanut gallery, doing a solid attempt at singing tenor. The key word here being "attempt". Needless to say, the soprano's voice grumbled and cracked on more than one occasion through these lyrics. " _Blithe and becoming and frequently humming a lighthearted air:"_

But it was the next bit of hers that sent them all into the grass, gasping for air through the laughter. Her imitation of Rapunzel was simply too much for them to maintain any sort of dignity. Not that any of them really cared to.

_._

**Monday, the 20th of April, 2020**

**12:42 p.m.**

It'd taken her more time than she would've liked to do this, but here she was. Standing right outside 403 with a ridiculous idea that was guarantee to fail. And yet her hand remained poised to knock on the door, prepared to intrude on the teachers' lunch.

At least there weren't any chairs to slam into this time.

"Mr. Carson," Mary quietly opened the door once she was given permission to come into the room, "I was wondering if I could have a moment?"

The choir director immediately leapt to his feet, wondering what on earth could have brought the eldest Crawley daughter up here during her lunch period. Seeing as how all classes continually rehearsed in the auditorium, it would be a hassle for any student to trek all the way up here.

As such, he didn't waste any time with the young soprano, "Is everything all right, Mary?"

"It is." She confirmed, taking note of the fact that Mrs. Hughes and Miss Vance were nowhere in sight. "Though, is everything all right with Mrs. Hughes and Miss Vance?"

"They're out getting takeaway," Mr. Carson easily dismissed the subject, probably wanting to get to the heart of the matter, "Did you want to rehearse for the solo showcase?"

"No, thank you." His confusion grew. "Rather, I had a request. A few fellow choristers and I were wondering if there would be an opportunity to sing at the wedding."

The choir director hadn't been expecting that. "'Sing at the wedding'?"

Mary nodded, "If it is agreeable, there are some who would find it a privilege to perform in June. To show our appreciation for everything both you and Mrs. Hughes have done for the choirs."

"How many is 'some'?"

She gave a wan smile, revealing nothing. "I wouldn't want to sway your decision by telling you that, Mr. Carson. I only wanted to inform you of the request. But don't worry," His eyebrows began to furrow at the thought of further concern, prompting the young lady to explain herself, "Whatever the answer, there won't be any 'Loch Lomond's in the show."

It didn't seem to have occurred to the man that the students could easily plan and sneak in a song to demonstrate their appreciation for their teachers. Nor did it occur to him that they would want to illustrate said appreciation any way they could. However, whether the idea had occurred or not, it was still possible for the students to pull it off. And, if it turned out they wouldn't be able perform in the wedding, they just might do something for the show.

After all, Mary only promised they wouldn't perform "Loch Lomond" –– nothing else.

"I certainly hope not." But his tone was light, definitely lighter than it had been when she started at Downton. Something the soprano appreciated, though she'd never admit as such. "But, speaking of surprises,"

"Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"I am sorry about how the competition went." She stiffened, understanding the reference at once. "I do hope you realize that, if it'd been up to me, your solo would have been featured in the showcase regardless. Scoring aside, you did splendidly."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I do understand." And she did.

Somewhat.

_._

**Friday, the 24th of April, 2020**

**7:18 p.m.**

Anna and Septimus may be performing their solos in May but Joseph Moseley was ecstatic to be singing his solo at Downton Abbey tonight. He'd been prepping for the April solo showcase for as long as he could, relieved that he'd be getting this chance to perform. It certainly helped that he'd stuck to his word and gotten plenty of sleep ever since the competition. _And,_ he'd made sure not to watch _Jurassic Park_ ever again!

"Ready?" Bless Phyllis for always being able to distract him from his nerves.

"But, what if the words really do fail?" Joseph couldn't help but ask. That was what his solo was all about –– practicing how to _not_ awkwardly convey his feelings, his love. "Just like the song?"

"Don't you remember how your solo ends?"

His girlfriend faithfully began to remind him when he shook his head, intoning the lyrics with all the confidence she could, "'When words fail, she'll just take my hand." The alto he did as such, smiling. "She sees me like no one else has." And, stepping onto her tiptoes, "She'll understand.'"

Kissing Joseph once more for luck, Phyllis had an inkling that the message was finally getting across.

_._

**Sunday, the 26th of April, 2020**

**5:14 p.m.**

"Elsie," Mary's request had been niggling away at his thoughts ever since she mentioned it. "I've a thought about the choirs,"

"Don't tell me," She sent him a look, "You want to cut 'Ten Minutes Ago' and give the Bass Choir a break?"

"Honestly?" He shuddered at the thought of cutting another song from the program. Elsie had already taken care of "Summer Nights" for the _a cappella_ class. But he hadn't had to take anything out, not until now. "I think it'd be for the best."

"I agree."

"But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." Charles raced to address the unspoken question before her curiosity simmered for too long, "I know we're less than two months away, but what do you think about giving the choirs a chance to perform something at the wedding?"

"Oh my goodness," He couldn't tell if that was a good 'goodness' or one that would end up being rather disappointing. "Thank you for reminding me!"

"You mean," Charles needed to confirm what he was hearing, "You were thinking the same?"

"I think it'd be lovely to have the choirs perform at our wedding!" Elsie paused, wanting to clarify, "That is, at least at the reception. I'm fairly certain we can't put them into the ceremony, not with only two months left."

"Definitely not." Not with Travis at the helm. "But what would we ask them to sing?"

She couldn't help herself: "Is that really a question?"

Charles chuckled, realizing that his fiancée was correct. "As you'd say, I suppose not. All we need to do now is figure out how to ask them."

"Do you not suppose a few sign-up sheets outside the dressing rooms would be enough?"

"The dressing rooms, Elsie?"

"Well, I doubt we'd want them to have to go _all the way_ back up to 402."

_Oh. That makes sense._ "I hadn't thought about it like that."

His fiancée hummed knowingly in response, having suspected as such.

_._

**Friday, the 1st of May, 2020**

**3:42 p.m.**

"What's this?"

Even though she did love singing, social media had always been a joy for Rose MacClare. It was one of the reasons she'd single-handedly taken over the Downton Choir social media pages, making sure the choirs were well taken care of when it came to their internet presence. And now that they were a week away from performing their showcase, it was key for their social media to be incredibly put-together.

"What do you got there, Rose?" Sybil asked, knowing that the teen was transfixed by something on her phone.

"Someone, a fan of the choirs, sent us a cool throwback video of Mr. Carson!" Rose explained, having read the email that came along with the video clip. "Apparently, he used to be in a quartet called the Cheerful Charlies –– a barbershop quartet if you can believe it!"

"The 'Cheerful Charlies'? A _barbershop quartet_?" Mary asked, smirking at the sound of it. She respected the choir director, even after he'd informed she would not be singing her solo in the show. Nevertheless, hearing that he'd once involved himself with a quartet brought a whole new dimension to the man, "I'm afraid I'll have to see proof of this, Rose."

"Look for yourself! I've got the video right here!"

"But, wait––" Edith was confused, "Didn't Mr. Carson hate anything _a cappella_ before Mrs. Hughes came along?"

"He just didn't want someone else taking charge of his choirs." Rose explained succinctly, beaming at the video. This was something unique, something that would strike attention within the school and the community. That it demonstrated Mr. Carson acting in a hilarious manner with the rest of his quartet was only the cherry on top, proving that their choir director was a member of the human race.

"I don't know, I really thought––"

"Well," Rose chimed back in, enthralled by the novelty of it all. "It can't hurt to show the world this side of our director. Who knows, maybe other fans of the Cheerful Charlies will find the video and help donate to the choirs?"

"Maybe we should ask Mrs. Hughes before posting––"

"She'd find it all charming, I'm sure. Besides, she gave me complete control over the social media platforms."

"Are you sure 'complete control' is what she really meant?" Sybil had a feeling that Rose was blowing it out-of-proportion.

"Oh, just relax." Mary reasserted herself in the conversation, "It sounds like the perfect way to acquire attention with a week before the show!"

"And, whether it's perfect or not," Rose began to declare with a smile, "It's done! Now all that's left is to thank them for sharing it."

"Do you know who sent it?"

"No idea," The tech-savy teen confessed, still taken with the surprise. "Just an anonymous fan. Isn't it sweet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Rose. You have so much to learn in life.
> 
> For those who want a reference as to the type of quartet the Cheerful Charlies would take after, you can check out "Storm Front - Lida Rose" or "FRED - 1997 International Quartet Semifinal". Definitely some hilarious comedy "quartet-ing" going on in those two groups!
> 
> Now, **here's the surprise:** you may have noticed that we've caught up to real-time. Well, I'm pleased to say that, to honor that, the next chapter should be up and running by **Monday, May 4th** because it starts on that same day :)
> 
> In any case, as always, have a lovely day!


	17. Eight Shocks and Four Sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased to say we are, as you undoubtedly guessed, nearing the end. Today, we've got the following: some understandable mortification, some good ole fashioned shock, a detective in the making, and more! And we will also be dealing with what happens when you post something on the Internet without consent.
> 
> Now, with that statement in mind, this chapter is not going to be quite as happy as normal. But, never fear –– there's always hope. Also! If anyone's confused as to why posting a performance video would be a problem in the first place, the first four hundred words or so show should explain it.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Monday, the 4th of May, 2020**

**7:18 a.m.**

He was mortified.

Absolutely _mortified._

This week was the most crucial of the term. This was the week where all involved choir, band, and orchestra students would be working together to perfect the showcase. As choir director, it was his duty to ensure that it all went according to plan, that everything was indeed perfect.

How could he perfect anything if they were all laughing at him?

He thought he'd gotten over the whole thing when they'd first found out about that video this weekend. Rose may have posted it, but she'd not informed them as such. No, they'd been informed by an onslaught of messages from members of the community. Emails commenting on how sweet it was that he was allowing the choirs to show this, messages from other musicians reveling in the surprise, so on and so forth.

That had been shocking but somewhat tolerable.

Going out into the world, however? Running errands with Elsie and receiving snide jabs and barbed comments from others who saw him in a new light? Bumping into individuals who looked embarrassed for his sake? People who thought his past so "endearing"?

Charles didn't want to describe what that had felt like.

His only consolation was that this incident didn't seem to reflect poorly on Downton. That the consolation felt weak and didn't even mean as much as it might've once was frustrating. But it was something.

Personally, he wanted to avoid it all. He didn't want to handle the judgment and he certainly couldn't stand to wonder what his students and his colleagues now thought of him. Most of all, he wished that bloody video had never been recorded.

It had been one of their performances, a competitive moment in their career as a quartet. It should have been fine to witness it again, nice even. It should have been a reminder of a vocal triumph, a chapter in his life that'd pushed him much more than he'd expected.

All it did was illuminate his shame. His frustration with his life at the time, his irritation with his supposed friends, the lack of personal accomplishment he'd felt, the confusion over everything that was going on in the background. They'd looked so stupidly happy on stage, as though they were a real team, and nothing could have been further from the truth.

Charles wished it'd never existed.

Wished he never had to acknowledge that period of his life again, regardless of what it may have been given him.

And as much as he wished otherwise, he knew what he had to do.

__.__

_**Saturday, the 2nd of May, 2020** _

_**12:32 p.m.** _

" _I've already spoken to Rose. She'll be taking the video down as soon as she can."_

" _No." He may have lost all respect from his pupils and the community, but he wasn't going to hide the facts away, not now. Personally, he suspected he knew who was behind it. And he wouldn't be giving Charlie Grigg any satisfaction over this, not if he could help it. "No, there's no need for that."_

" _Are you sure?"_

" _I'm sure." Turning to Elsie, resigning himself to dealing with whatever came next, "It'll be fine."_

" _But––"_

" _Please." He didn't want to bicker or fight, not about this. "Whoever put this up wanted to hurt my reputation. They'll only really succeed if I deny it, if I reveal myself to be ashamed of it. Well, I won't give them that."_

" _If you're sure."_

" _I am."_

_._

**Monday, the 4th of May, 2020**

**7:19 a.m.**

So, that humiliating recording had stayed up and persisted in mocking him for the whole weekend. But he persisted, sticking to his word and handling all mentionings with as much dignity as he could muster.

Which had worked to an extent. A poor extent, but it counted for something.

Either way, it was too late to change anything.

All they could do now was keep going.

"Right." Charles held up a few sheets of paper –– the sign-ups to sing at their wedding, complete with details as to what the song would be as well as their expectations. Any student could sign up. But if they proved to be irresponsible when it came to learning their music or maintained a bad attitude in general, they would not be singing at the reception. Gesturing to a patch of wall nearby the first couple of dressing rooms, "Care to do the honours?"

Elsie studied him for a moment, trying to discern what was running through his mind. It hadn't escaped her notice that he'd been on-edge the second they'd learnt of the recording. But, in typical Charles fashion, he'd also become closed off. Had to process the whole thing first, couldn't bring himself to share anything just yet.

Her fiancé would eventually be able to talk about all this, she knew that. She personally wanted to just get it all out on the table, work it all through right here and now, but she knew all too well that it wasn't his style.

The only thing that could be done now was to support him however she could.

Therefore, it was a faint smile and reassuring tone that Elsie informed Charles of the truth, "It would be an honour."

_._

**9:02 a.m.**

"And just how many of us do they expect to cram in here?" Isabel Johnson should've known than to voice that question aloud. But, really, the students hadn't been given a chance to officially claim any dressing rooms before today –– there hadn't been a need until this week.

"Well," She could hear Molly's brain whirring away in seconds, "There's about 130 of us, give or take, right?"

"Right."

Molly nodded, closing her eyes so as to concentrate more on her maths, "Cool. So, if the fifteenth dressing room is just for teachers, that means about nine people per room for the remaining fourteen. And I think that'd be the case even if we separate it by gender. Which, of course, Mr. Carson wouldn't allow anything else."

"And just how the hell do you do that?" Simply put, Jane Wayne was in awe.

"It's simple really. The Bass choir already selected their rooms, and Mrs. Hughes did mention that we were limited to––"

"The real question is," Isabel interrupted, glowering at the approach of a familiar voice, "Are we actually going to have to put up with her?"

Already, Camellia Botterill could be heard making her way downstairs, complaining to someone about how disgusting the dressing rooms were being tucked away _here_ of all places. This was not the first time she'd aired this grievance nor would it be the last.

"Not if we get six other girls here first."

"But, seriously," Camellia's voice ensnared everyone's attention, whether they wanted it or not. "I still can't believe that _Mr. Carson_ of all people _actually_ performed in that ridiculous group––"

"And _I_ still can't believe that you're this unprofessional," Maribel Diaz proclaimed as she slipped past the _prima donna_ , fed up with the attitude. "But, then again, it is _you_."

"I don't know about you," Isabel muttered, sticking her head out the door of their room, "But I believe we've just found our fourth girl."

_._

**10:43 a.m.**

Mary had been hesitant to enter the auditorium that day. Having been one of the few individuals who supported Rose in her decision to impulsively post the video, the Crawley daughter hadn't realized what the impact would be. But having now heard students –– students in other classes, ones that never interacted with the choirs –– snidely mock Mr. Carson's past all thanks to her… she didn't like how it made her feel.

Regret took hold of her steps, bringing her to a stop outside the auditorium. It'd seemed like a good bit of fun and a chance to learn more about her director and see what made him tick. Sharing the fun seemed trivial at the time. It wasn't supposed to become a guilt-trip.

"Can you believe Mr. Carson _actually_ sang and acted like that?" The soprano scowled at the conversation coming from down the hallway, "And did you get a look at those _outfits_?"

"Can those things even be called outfits, Kate?" The pair of gossipers may not be choir students, but they were obnoxious enough to be heard by anyone within earshot –– something that irritated Mary to no end.

Rolling her eyes at the derision, she hurriedly stepped through the door that would lead her to the backstage.

If only the atmosphere wasn't as horrendous inside the auditorium.

It was clear that, judging from the fact that everyone studiously avoided her, they knew she had to have been involved in posting the video. The sudden hush irritated her, pushing her to walk past them all and almost collide with Charles Blake. It wasn't the first time that she'd had a collision in his presence, but his obvious disappointment was a newfound experience.

Her scowl only deepened, the young lady well aware of why he was so upset.

His obvious disappointment was new, however. He wasn't going to say a word, but the baritone didn't look happy in the slightest and she knew exactly what the cause was.

"Fine. I made a mistake." She wasn't the one who actually posted the bloody thing, but that didn't seem to matter in his eyes. Didn't seem to matter to anyone, apparently. "Are we going to fixate on it for the entire class period? It certainly won't help Mr. Carson if we do."

Charles looked like he had a thing or two to remark about helping Mr. Carson, but he remained quiet.

"And I suppose you'll just keep this up for the whole week, then?"

Apparently not. "Just tell me one thing."

"What?" _What could you possibly want to know?_

"Why?"

"In all honesty,"

It was a cold drawl, one that observed the baritone's anticipation with a feigned indifference,

"I don't know."

_._

**Tuesday, the 5th of May, 2020**

**10:04 a.m.**

It hadn't been the costume changes that had gotten to him. Nor had it been the endless chattering about how the show was only _days_ away. Not even finding out his choir director having been in a comedy quartet had fazed the bass. Personally, he'd been in awe of Mr. Carson –– never thinking the straight-edge teacher would've done anything like that. Learning about his past had been enough to make Septimus Spratt say anything truly was possible. That he really could do whatever he wanted to and he didn't have to remain stuck somewhere he didn't want to be.

Which had been incredibly empowering right up to his mic-check for the show. But now he was standing up on the edge of the stage, completely alone. Staring off into piercing bright lights, being told to speak into his microphone, wondering why he was here because this was petrifying beyond belief.

"Testing?" The bass hesitantly stated, "1-2-3?"

"That's good, Septimus!" Mrs. Hughes reassured him all the way from the sound booth, several yards away. "But we'll need to hear you sing, too. Just a measure or two should work."

_Oh._

_That's right._

_I do_ _**sing** _ _, don't I?_

Clearing his throat, trying his best not to give away his nerves, " _I won't send roses or hold the door. I won't remember which dress you wore––"_

"Excellent, thank you!" But he was still charging through the song _a cappella_ , running on auto-pilot, "That's perfect, Septimus!"

It took Gladys quickly running up to her friend and not-so-subtly elbowing him to get the young bass to understand his mic-check was finished.

Needless to say, he didn't want to do another one of those any time soon!

Except, he would. This Friday. In the show. For his _solo._

"Mr. Carson really was in a barbershop quartet, right? That wasn't faked or anything?" He would only ask Gladys this when they were away from the others, needing to remember that anything was truly possible.

"Yup." She may have smirked knowingly but she didn't really know what was going on. "Don't tell me: CJ mentioned she wanted to join one?"

"No, nothing like that." _Not today, at least._

_Maybe sometime down the road._

_We'll see._

_._

**1:34 p.m.**

The Treble Choir were just about to warm-up when it had happened.

"No."

All musicians looked at Mrs. Hughes in confusion, not knowing why she spoke. They were equally clueless as to why she wasn't proceeding to run them through their scales. It'd been weird enough yesterday when she and Mr. Carson acted so differently. Quiet, focused solely on the music. Not angry, not quite upset, but definitely not the same.

Their students weren't entirely sure they could do a week of that sort of attitude –– not when this was their last week before the show. The orchestra and band students that could rehearse during seventh period didn't know any different, but the Treble Choir faltered at the attitude.

"No, Mrs. Hughes?" It seemed that the students weren't alone in the confusion. The choir director was watching his colleague with bewilderment, not understanding why she was currently abandoning her station and heading to her purse, approaching the house seats.

"No." She simply repeated, as though that explained everything. Luckily for them all, the teacher was willing to elaborate as she continued fishing through her purse for something. "This is our last show of the year. You all know the material wonderfully and have proven yourselves time and time again –– I dare say we can afford to have a little fun."

Revealing at last the pitch pipe waiting to be played, the woman smiled at the sight of faces lighting up, some curiously and others knowingly. And, yes, that included the choir director. "Ladies, do you remember our lessons on barbershop tags? It was last autumn, sometime in October."

At the nods that trailed after her words, "Excellent. Who remembers 'Sleepytime'?"

"'Sleepytime', Mrs. Hughes?" This was a serious question, one that came from Mr. Carson. The man looked to be struck with the reminder of something, something that escaped the rest of their audience.

"That's correct, Mr. Carson. We'll start with that before we move on to 'Smile' and 'Ocean Breezes'. Then we'll go into the music."

"'Smile'? 'Ocean Breezes'? You do remember that they don't know those, right?"

That was an obvious fact to the Treble Choir, one that didn't need repeating. Unbeknownst to them, the teachers weren't focused on repeating facts. Only a sweet conversation from the summer, one surrounded by both new and old friends.

Her smile flourished into a beam, a sense of recognition rising in her lilt as she reassuringly echoed an old sentiment, "Not yet they don't."

_._

**Wednesday, the 6th of May, 2020**

**12:41 p.m.**

"And we really can't burn that dress?" The nice thing was, the dress had stopped bothering Beryl Patmore ever since she and Linda had fleshed out their little plan. Mind, she did have to keep up pretenses until she'd actually talked to Elsie about and set said plan into motion.

"You know better than to suggest that. Besides, it'll be gone by Friday evening."

"Really?"

"Miss Neal will be coming by to personally collect it herself." And it was clear what the choir teacher thought of _that_.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Oh, I doubt she'd be up to anything, not with a concert on the same night!"

_I wouldn't put it past her._ Beryl was not a fan of this, not one bit. And she knew that Elsie would mean well, but she also knew that if the woman was given less time to overthink everything, the better everything would be.

That was why she'd been content to wait until the last possible second before informing her friend of the plan Linda came up with. Of course, hearing what Alice had in mind made now as good a time as any.

"Elsie," The choir teacher looked up at the sound of her name spoken so seriously, having been eyeing everything inside the closet. "I had a thought about this,"

"Am I interrupting something, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore?" Both teachers whirled around to face Phyllis Baxter, the young woman holding onto her ukelele as she spoke, "Only, I was wondering if it'd be possible to work on my solo for _Drowsy_ –– Oh, they're all beautiful!"

The student had noticed the wedding decorations tucked away in the closet. There were varnished wooden signs, ones that drew out tender sentiments as well as wedding instructions in a fine white paint. Some white mugs were tucked away in the corner along with various other embellishments, remaining party favours. Flowers purchased from a craft store for the centerpieces, little additional decorations for the reception, treasures of all sorts rested inside the closet.

"Thank you, Phyllis." Elsie had started to speak up, but the young alto was too taken with the decorations to change the subject.

"Are you sure you want to leave them here? What if something happens to them?"

This seemed to be the perfect opening for Beryl to mention her plan, "Actually, I remember Miss Vance mentioning she had a thought about that,"

"Thoughts or no," The choir teacher reasserted herself in the conversation with ease, ignoring her personal curiosity as it continued to grow, "That closet's one of the safest places for the decorations."

"Yeah, it certainly has a knack for keeping everything inside locked up nicely. Remind me, how did you find it when you and Mr.––"

"Now, Phyllis, you said you wanted to rehearse a little today?"

_._

**Thursday, the 7th of May, 2020**

**9:47 a.m.**

_C'mon._ _**Breathe.** _ _You're fine._

_Seriously, you've done this before and you can do it again. He's not here now and he won't be here tomorrow. He's_ _**never** _ _coming back. They put him away for good, you were there when they announced it._

_Really, you can do this. You're performing your solo in just a day, you can walk down some stairs! It's not_ _**that** _ _part of the basement, and you don't have to go there ever again._

"Anna." She would've frozen at the name if she wasn't already stockstill. "It's okay. You're safe."

The soprano hadn't noticed her heart was skipping several beats, her gasps erratic and loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear.

"I––" He was already there, she belatedly realized. Already standing right beside her, wanting to help. It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last, and he was still here. "I know."

She still needed a moment.

Needed to remember she wasn't being chased, she wasn't trapped in some sort of nightmare, and she certainly wasn't alone.

_._

**3:51 p.m.**

"And just what are you up to?"

Linda Vance did not fancy herself a detective. No, she never thought her deduction skills were anything like Sherlock's. And as Poirot might've pointed out, she could use more of her "little grey cells" in life.

Even so, these students weren't being particularly discreet. And whatever brought Mary Crawley and Penelope Carlisle together –– of all people! –– had to be quite the secret.

Staring down the two young women, Linda debated between walking away and inserting herself into whatever was going on. On one hand, seeing as how they were probably rehearsing for the show, she would make a fool of herself if she suddenly barged in. On the other hand, she didn't see any sheet music in sight. It was quite possible, and much more likely, that the pair was up to something.

"Miss Vance! I was hoping to catch you here. I've got a question about tomorrow," Well, there went that decision.

At least Linda could say, if nothing else, it'd all been been taken out of her hands.

**_._**

**Friday, the 8th of May, 2020**

**3:26 p.m.**

"Charlie," She wasn't against the idea of shoving him down the stairs if it finally brought the man back to the dressing rooms for the first time in days. "We both know you won't be able to concentrate tonight if you don't look at the list now."

"Elsie," His fiancée may be right, but he wouldn't admit that, not yet at least. "Surely you can tell me who signed up? There's no need to go downstairs."

"Not a chance, darling." The endearment flew out unintentionally, surprising them both. Pet names and the likes weren't typical for them. Those words were seldom spoken and definitely not on the grounds of Downton.

Quickly, before she had a chance to box up the sentiment and pretend it'd never happened, "'Darling'. I liked that."

"I'll have to remember that," The woman was more than a little thrown off by the slip. But slips or no, they needed to appraise the sign-ups for the wedding. Partially to help effectively plan out the rest of the term. Moreso because her curiosity about the sign-ups was driving her to distraction. "To answer your question, I've not taken a look since we put it up."

"You're joking." He may have avoided the thing like it was the plague, but she didn't have to do the same. And he knew her rather well by this point –– it wasn't normal for her to resist a mystery for so long.

"Certainly not." The woman proceeded to bestow him with an encouraging peck on the cheek, her last attempt to get him moving voluntarily in the direction of the stairs, "Now, if you want more of that, you'll have to follow me downstairs!"

Oh, she could be a little plotter, couldn't she? Well, when this was over and they confirmed no one wanted to sing at their wedding after everything that'd happened, Charles would give her a taste of her own medicine, that was a fact!

That is, if he ever mustered up the courage to go downstairs and end this little enigma.

Hesitantly, trying not to admit that he was stalling when it came to following her and finding out the truth, he gave into a sigh. His fiancée had already vanished down the steps, and she wouldn't be coming back up until he'd finally taken a look himself.

"Right. Let's get this over with."

Charles should've known she would be waiting for him at the stairs, an expectant gleam and an encouraging smile on her lips. Yes, those lips could be quite persuasive when they wanted to be–– and if she thought she could distract him now, she was quite wrong!

Except he hadn't noticed he was already at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you sure we should be here? What if a student's here, trying on their costume, intent on rehearsing one last time?"

"When none of them are expected for another two hours? I think not!" The hand was held out without question, less of an offer and more of a statement. "C'mon. We'll look together."

It came as a surprise to no one that he had accepted it. Even as the man continued to protest the matter –– "And what do we do if no one's signed up?" –– he continued to let her guide him toward the papers in question.

"Then we give them some time after the show to be sure of themselves."

"And then?"

"And if the answer is still no, we let the matter go."

Charles couldn't help the needles that continued to burrow themselves into his shoulders, a personal tension forcibly _crescendoing_ as they drew nearer. He hadn't been able to read his students this week. Couldn't know what they really thought of him now that they knew about his past. Suspected that these next thirty seconds would tell him everything he didn't want to know. Didn't know if it'd be worse if the papers were all pathetically blank or if they were dripping in mockery.

"Please," With the show only hours away, he didn't want to know the truth. Didn't want his thoughts confirmed over everything, didn't want to come acknowledge how foolish he'd once been. He could take judgment from the community. He never wanted to know what that judgment would be like coming from his students. "Elsie. Suppose no one cares? Suppose they think me utterly ridiculous?"

"Charles," He felt his hand squeezed reassuringly, the touch enough to coax him into looking at his fiancée as they came to a stop. The sign-ups were taped to the wall, just out of sight. But his vision was determined to concentrate only on her. "We can spend an eternity supposing. But the truth is that, whatever is on those papers, we will be all right."

He nodded. He couldn't quite believe that this next minute would work out the way he hoped. But he did know they would be all right in the end. They'd already faced Emma Butte at her worst. They'd dealt with countless incidents –– from Jimmy's numerous interruptions to setting off the fire alarm last spring. They'd even managed to sort out their feelings for each other, sifting as colleagues through competitions and concerts and courtyard conversations only to discover they could be so much more.

Right. If they could do that, he could do this.

Charles had to start out slowly, his eyes drifting from Elsie toward the papers. But before he could muster up the courage to properly observe anything, his gaze was darting to the floor. He was able to take another step forward, but he couldn't bring himself to take a proper look.

_We'll be all right. It's only a few sheets of paper._

With that in mind, he could get his eyes to trail up the wall. He could set aside the fact that the dressing room area as a whole really needed more maintenance –– a thought subconsciously meant to distract him, no doubt –– as well as the fact that he was beginning to sweat now that the papers were approaching his sight.

"My, my."

But it was he who spoke those words. Something that distracted his future wife to no end, the woman letting out a deep chuckle as she turned away from the papers before them.

The very same papers coated in names.

The original two pages were all filled up, accompanied by two more lined sheets. Each choir had numerous volunteers eager for the opportunity, more than a dozen names from each group listed. And judging from the pattern of names and how dried some of the ink was, there had been an outpour of support from the very start.

Anna Smith. John Bates. Ellie Bell. Andy Parker. Thomas Barrow. Alyssa Cummings. Maribel Diaz. Charlotte Williams. Septimus Spratt. Gladys Denker. Molly Curtis. Claire Morris. Sybil Crawley. Tom Branson… whether penned or pencilled in, the affirmations and opinions of their students were there for anyone to see.

But there was still one name he wished to see. A name he'd hoped he would find on one of these pages. Someone he couldn't bring himself to be disappointed in, regardless of the pain she'd inadvertently caused.

Seeing that very name listed only halfway down the first page was indescribable. That he was here, witnessing this instead of hiding away from it all, was equally awe-inspiring.

"We really have changed, haven't we?"

This kiss held far more than any one sentiment. Bliss that it was all truly beginning to work out and that there really had been nothing to fear. Regret over how much their students had suffered, pride that so many of them had been able to pick themselves up this term. Relief that the school year was ending fairly peacefully, excitement for what tonight would bring. And a soothing delight that in a little over a month they would be married.

"We certainly have."

And so began the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe this has been more than a year in the making?
> 
> Honestly, if you'd said two years ago, "Hey, you're eventually going to write a choir Downton Abbey story that'll be the length of a _Harry Potter_ novel by the end of it. Have fun!" I don't think I would've believed you. Truly, I don't think I even believed myself when I started this. I just wanted to share a little about singing and have some fun with some great characters.
> 
> But now that we're here, all I can say is it has been an honor. We are three chapters from the end and it has absolutely been a pleasure to write this and grow throughout these stories. I cannot wait for Friday to finally start sharing this show.
> 
> Truly, once again, thank you.


	18. A Love Finally Heard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** As per usual, we're going to do the first act here and the second act in the next chapter. **All songs will be mentioned,** so if you're interested in looking up getting an idea of what they sound like you're more than welcome to. **Nevertheless, only a majority will be written out** so as to avoid overwhelm.
> 
> **These are the songs** that'll be officially "sung" in the first half. Just like before, it'll be "Song" / _Show_ / "Keywords to find it" ––
> 
> "When I Grow Up" / _Matilda_ / "Matilda - When I Grow Up with lyrics"
> 
> "Holding Out For a Hero" / _Footloose_ / "Holding Out For a Hero - Footloose the Musical"
> 
> "Once" Medley / _Once_ / "WHS Chorus - Once Medley 1. Falling Slowly 2. When Your Minds Made Up - 4/2/2015"
> 
> "Into the Woods" Medley / _Into the Woods_ /
> 
> "I Won't Send Roses" / _Mack and Mabel_ / "Watch Brian Stokes Mitchell's Soaring Rendition of 'I Won't Send Roses' from MACK & MABEL)"
> 
> "I Could Have Danced All Night" / _My Fair Lady_ / "I Could Have Danced All Night - Hywel Choir / Angelicus"
> 
> "(You're Not Sick) You're Just in Love" / _Call Me Madame_ / "You're Not Sick You're Just In Love"
> 
> "You'll Never Walk Alone" / _Carousel_ / "Only Boys Aloud - You'll Never Walk Alone"
> 
> "One Day More" / _Les Misérables_ / "Les Miserables Live- One Day More"
> 
> For the remaining Act I songs, I'll be including those in the second author's note at the bottom.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the rights to the musicals/songs referenced in both this and the following chapter. Nor do I own _Downton Abbey_.
> 
> **Decor Disclaimer:** The description of the choir rooms, specifically 403, have been inspired by real choir rooms. But any description given here does not match the true sentiment of the room. You'll see what I mean when we get there.
> 
> And, now, without further ado, the last show in the series has arrived! Enjoy!

**Friday, the 8th of May, 2020**

**6:57 p.m.**

Chatter of all kind blanketed the air as the young woman made her way down a hallway filled with supporters and students alike. The sound of voices twirling through conversations of all sorts lingered, the level of enthusiasm informing her that everyone was excited for the show.

Oh, who was she kidding? Linda Vance knew that everyone was thrilled for tonight's performance! And, yes, that included the students who hailed from other schools _and_ members of the community who'd never come to a show before. Yup, every soul here was ready to support the choirs tonight, giving the teaching assistant the confidence to walk with pride.

If only _she_ wasn't trailing behind, probably five seconds from piping up and inserting herself into this lovely scene. Linda had heard her the moment she'd stepped into the building, a weariness threatening to distort the sweet atmosphere.

"Oh, Miss Vance," _Knew it._ "There you are! I was looking all over for you!"

The teaching assistant shoved back her scowl, forced herself to remember she'd no longer be working with Alice after tonight, and cheerfully turned around.

"Miss Neal!" Being but a mere assistant –– Alice's words, not hers –– Linda was content to remain formal in her tone. Especially once the woman demanded it. "And will Mr. Grigg be joining us this evening?"

_._

**6:59 p.m.**

Alice Neal had never been impressed by Vance. The only reason that she'd approached the woman before the show was because it would suit her plan wonderfully.

"Charlie said he had a few more things to take care of at the school, he's right behind me." Alice informed her, willing to rile her up before officially going through with her plan. "Though, speaking of Charlie –– Charlie Carson, that is –– I couldn't believe that video when I saw it! I was there when it'd all happen, of course, but to be reminded of it all was simply astonishing!"

"I can only imagine."

"Oh, that's right –– you weren't even alive then, were you?" As she suspected, Vance took offense to hearing her lack of experience subtly referenced. It was too easy winding the woman up, but it was a treat to watch her composure start to vanish.

"Yes, well," Whatever the assistant had to say next, the teacher was sure it'd be a treat to respond.

"Pardon me, but," She turned toward the unfamiliar voice, vaguely recognizing the boy. He was in that horrid octet, the Carlisle-Downton combination that was doomed to fail. Collin something or other. "You _are_ Alice Neal –– the Lark of Song, right?"

He should've known that fact by now, considering she'd helped that stupid octet days ago. But, seeing as how the boy looked so starstruck, she could forgive him that.

"Well now," That Linda Vance was still in earshot, having been unable to escape, was only the icing on the cake. "It's about time someone around here demonstrated manners and refinement. I am, indeed."

"It's an honour!" The student replied, oblivious to the trouble he unwittingly stirred up. Vance was becoming irritated with the compliments and the awe, something that only gave Alice more pleasure. "Any chance I can help you get settled? Get you some water or something?"

"I really don't think that's necessary." Alice inwardly snickered at the assistant's growing ire, basking in the attention.

"Please," A new voice, a _charming_ voice, came out of nowhere. "Allow me the honour of taking your coat, Miss Neal."

The choir teacher didn't have to plaster a smile on as she turned to the young man now offering his assistance. She remembered him at once, delightfully pleased by his manners. He was the lead in that octet, a handsome teenager she had no problem conceding her coat to.

"Miss Vance, I'm impressed by the manner of Charlie's students." Her perky tone brightened as she caught Vance's scowl deepen, her own smile widening. "I really shouldn't be surprised, having known him for years. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that it was only last year any trouble ever came to Downton. I'd never want to point fingers or anything, but I really do believe that Mrs. Hughes has inspired a certain change in attitude––"

"Shall I take you to your dress, Miss Neal?"

Alice inwardly smirked, aware that the scathing remark had landed as she intended. She knew the assistant was seconds away from exploding, just like she planned.

"Ah, yes, my dress. Waiting for me along with all those _endearing_ wedding decorations. Aren't they all so quaint?"

This was really quite the treat! Little Miss Linda Vance was seconds away from causing an unforgettable scene in front of all these lovely families –– ensuring that the teaching assistant gained the disapproval of many. Something that would undoubtedly hurt poor Downton's reputation as well as the choirs.

"Actually,"

_Please, prove my point. Show how tactless this school really is._ Not only would it cause a scene that would have to involve Charlie, the person she really wanted to take her to her dress, it would possibly be enough to remove Vance from the show. Something that would be positively devastating for the group and prove how incompetent Elsie Hughes really was.

After all, _a cappella_ was the woman's specialty. It didn't matter who officially suggested the idea for the teachers to perform together; everyone would associate Hughes with it because she never shut up about such things. So if the group couldn't perform at the last second, the woman would shoulder all the blame.

"Oh, Miss Vance," Alice bit back her own scowl, turning to the stupid girl who dared to barge in on an important moment, "May I borrow you for a moment?"

"What's wrong, Anna?"

"Well, I only wanted to know––" Alice cleared her throat in an effort to put a stop to this trivial conversation, succeeding in seconds. Her smile only widened at the sight of the teaching assistant tensing up, no doubt finally about to send off an acerbic tirade worthy of removal.

"Perhaps I can take Miss Neal to her dress, Miss Vance. It's upstairs, right?" Now _that_ was disappointing! That starstruck student from before was now offering to help!

How dare he ruin her plans!

Still, it would be easy enough to ditch the boy.

Which meant she would have just enough time to come up with something perfect for everything she'd had to put up with this last year.

Her mind made up, Alice turned away from the teaching assistant and the students, impatiently waiting to be taken upstairs. The sooner she ditched him, the sooner she could come up with something perfect.

"That would be perfect, Connor." He nodded, ever the respectful student. "And, yes, in the closet of 403. You'll have to go up those stairs. The closet should still be unlocked and open."

The teacher hadn't caught a word of that exchange, only paying attention when Collin rejoined her: "It really is quite an honour to meet the Lark of Song after all this time."

"Oh, a fan, are you?" _Gay, too, if you know me by_ _ **that**_ _name._

"My mum listens to your recordings whenever she can." The boy confessed with a small smile, clearly abashed. "If you'll follow me."

"That's nice." She could make small-talk with a fan, it was easy enough. Better yet, the boy would be filled with enough awe that he would let Alice slip into 403 unaccompanied.

Yes, this would all work out _perfectly._

Except for the fact that he apparently forgot where the room was. And he'd nearly taken them up the wrong stairwell. _And then_ he proceeded to start conversing with another student, embarrassed when she reminded him of their task.

When they finally made it to the second fourth floor –– apparently, there were _two_ fourth floors, if you can believe it! –– Alice was ready to scream. That journey had been more irritating to endure than her first meeting with Elsie Hughes.

Suffice it to say, she would be eager to be rid of Collin and be done with the whole thing. His detours had done little to help her concoct another plan. And now they only had twenty minutes at most before the show!

"There you are, Connor! I've been looking for you everywhere!" At least Alice didn't have to supply an excuse to escape! Some poor, pathetic soul was gasping for air, having arrived through the other stairwell maybe seconds after they'd arrived. Probably ran the whole way up, if she were to guess.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Neal," Collin, Connor, whatever his name was, stated in a shy manner, glancing at the student, "I think Joseph needs me."

Alice's hand was already on the door to 403, shooing both boys away: "No worries, dearies! I can always find my way back!"

They smiled in appreciation, giving a friendly wave that she echoed with little effort. And, closing the door behind her once the two started to leave the floor, she waited until the sounds of conversation disappeared. Once that occurred, she re-opened the door, letting her ears confirm what she already knew.

She was now the only person on the floor.

_Finally!_ Alice thought to herself once she was left alone. Without another word, she stepped further into the room –– rolling her eyes at how long it'd taken this long for that student to bring her up here. Honestly, whoever it had been, _why_ had it taken them all that time to figure out how to get up here? As a Downton student, it was ridiculous how much time they'd wasted getting lost in the school!

_Whatever. Further proof Downton's filled with idiots._

Now… it was time to come up with a new plan.

Walking up to the closet, she poked her head in to confirm that her costume remained intact. Smirking in glee at the sight of pearl white lace blending into cotton so beautifully, she admired its beautiful layers. It was so voluminous it obscured the decorations, allowing her to pretend as though that ridiculous wedding wasn't a month away.

Honestly, she could admire the gown for an age and then some.

If only her original plan hadn't been ruined.

Then she might've had a real chance to do just that.

Stepping out of the closet and scanning about the room, having never paid much attention to this part of Downton Academy, Alice took a moment to critique it. She knew in her gut that this had to be Hughes' room. Not only was this the smaller of the two choir rooms, this one was a lot shabbier. Nothing like her own rooms, of course! Her rooms back at The Center were far more pristine in their conditions. None of these worn-out squeaky floorboards, faded chairs that have definitely seen better days, or the pathetic off-white wallpaper in need of repair.

And, a _chalkboard_ at the front _?_

How deliciously tacky!

It was with a sense of vindication that the performer sneered at the surroundings, amused by it all. This set-up was laughably old-fashioned at best! And that was the kindest sentiment she could bestow. This was a room that was truly pitiable and not worthy of her attention.

"How the mighty have fallen." The woman gave a dark snort, knowing there wasn't a lot of time left before she would be needed. The teachers were performing in the second act, true, but her expertise was always required.

_Like I said: further proof Downton's filled with idiots._ Not Charlie, of course. Charlie was confused about everything, nothing else. And if she'd had her way, she would have been helping him understand that this very second.

But, his absence was fine.

It meant that, seeing as how this was Hughes' room, there would be no one around to stop a little sabotage. Discreetly damaging the property, writing up a scathing message on that ghastly chalkboard, all of these actions could be blamed on a deviant student –– there'd be no need to even think of her.

Stepping in front of the first rows of chairs before her, Alice eyed the room carefully in thought. A vulgar message on the board would be child's play. Cracking a window could do some real damage. But whatever she did, she would have to make sure any permanent damage couldn't be traced back to her.

_But what to do?_

It would have to be clever. Possibly ruin a wedding sign or three, make the closet look as though it had been destroyed by a teen up to no good. She could even sabotage her own dress a little, ensure no one suspected her of a thing. It would add character to her performance, give her a little more sympathy from the crowd.

Belatedly, her ears caught the sound of someone scrambling into the hallway outside. Not wanting to be discovered lurking here of all places, Alice took the best hiding space in the room and quickly shut the closet door behind her.

Whether it was a student or faculty member, she had no need to be spotted now.

Her actions were perfectly timed, the sound of a petulant teenage boy assaulting the room the second she closed the door.

"Mrs. Hughes? Mr. Carson? My costume for the chorus in 'Seasons of Love's been stolen and Thomas told me you'd be in here to help!"

Alice silently snickered away at the boy's troubles, imagining him to be a snobby sort of character.

"And _once again_ you're not here! Honestly!"

Seconds later, the singer was stomping out of the room, harshly slamming the door shut. Only when he was certainly out of earshot did she let herself properly cackle, enjoying every part of that. It was another mistake on the part of Downton, letting a child's costume get snatched. That it was for _Rent_ of all things was laughable, considering the set-list.

But it wasn't her problem, that was for sure!

"All right. Let's get serious." There was probably only fifteen minutes before the show. And if she wanted a solid alibi, if she wanted it to be pinned on a student instead, she would need to be downstairs in less than five.

It was with a sense of glee that she reached out to grip the doorknob, only to discover there was nothing to grip.

" _What_?"

Hand skimming the door in the darkness, the woman mercilessly pressed herself up against it to pry the thing open. When it wouldn't budge, she went back to feeling the bloody thing up and figuring out how the hell she was going to get out of this. Letting loose a few curses when nothing worked, her scowl deepened as she put some more effort into shoving the door open.

When that also failed, she went back to searching for the way out –– shrieking when nothing availed itself. How could she be trapped in this bloody closet, locked inside without anyone nearby to call for help?

"You idiot!" Her mobile was perfectly capable of ringing up Charlie and demanding she be let out of here.

There was only one problem.

Her mobile was in her coat pocket, no doubt in the faculty dressing room by this point.

Leaving her stuck in this damn closet with her fantastic dress and–– and a mini-fridge? And were those yoga mats tucked away in the corner? Where were the wedding decorations? The signs, the flowers, where the hell did it all go?

And, more importantly, "What the hell do they get up to here?"

Yoga mats, honestly!

**_._**

**7:12 p.m.**

"They weren't there, Jimmy?" Thomas only asked once they'd started back down on the stairs, the baritone the very picture of innocence. "I was sure Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes would be up here!"

"They're _never_ there when I need them!" The tenor wailed away, huffing up a storm as they headed back toward the auditorium. "Every single time I try to ask them a question before a show, they're never around! And this time, it's not even a question! My _Rent_ costume's been _stolen_!"

"Maybe we should check the dressing rooms again for your costume –– we might've missed it earlier."

"Yeah, well, when it turns out someone stole my costume, there'll be blood!"

Thomas solemnly nodded, inwardly chuckling at the thought of Jimmy trying his hand against Abigail Hankins. Undoubtedly, the Carlisle student had returned the attire in question back to its rightful place –– the young woman clever enough to discreetly handle the situation. But even if Jimmy found out the truth, the baritone had no doubt his peer would lose any fight in a heartbeat.

"C'mon," Thomas said with a glance at his phone, "We've only got less than ten minutes before we'll need to be ready. We'll find out the truth soon enough."

Abigail had done her part, that was for sure. Now it was time for Connor to sneak back up and post a sign on 402 and 403 indicating that –– if one wanted to contact Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes –– they were to go straight to the auditorium.

That would guarantee everyone concluding both classrooms were locked up, leaving the rooms alone.

They would eventually let Alice out. They just figured it would be best if she missed the actual show and didn't have the chance to ruin anything. It also helped that everything of importance had been removed from the closet only yesterday.

Though, really, that part was entirely thanks to Matthew….

__.__

_**Thursday, the 7th of May, 2020** _

_**3:50 p.m.** _

_Isobel Crawley felt she always excelled at two things: charitable acts and supporting just causes. So when her son wearily brought up how concerned he was about Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson leaving their precious wedding decorations inside the school when all sorts of things could go wrong, Isobel knew she'd found her calling for the day!_

_That she was only now hearing of this atrocity made sense –– everyone was terribly busy during the spring, swamped with meetings and the likes. It simply meant that she had even more motivation to fix this whole mess as soon as she could. She could only imagine the numerous awful scenarios that would doubtlessly occur if nothing was done._

_And if a trip up to the second fourth floor proved futile, she would go to the next best thing._

" _Miss Vance! I was hoping to catch you here." If the teaching assistant couldn't help, no one could. "I've got a question about tomorrow." Isobel paused, knowing that it really wasn't about the concert, "More specifically…"_

_It had taken her only a minute to coax the young woman into revealing the whole story._

_Yes, almost all wedding supplies were in the school. But Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson had already decided to move everything into their flat, having been convinced by Mrs. Patmore and Miss Vance only yesterday. The catch was that the choir teachers had decided to do this after the concert –– something Isobel had deemed much too late for comfort._

" _Well, how about right now?"_

" _I'm sorry?"_

" _We can take care of everything right now. I'm sure I've enough space in my car."_

" _But don't we need Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes's permission?"_

" _Oh, that's easy enough!"_

" _It is?"_

" _It is. The real question is if they've already left for the day."_

" _They should still be going over the sound booth in the auditorium––"_

" _Perfect! Cora wouldn't have cared, but Violet detests climbing all those stairs."_

"' _Violet'? 'Cora'?"_

" _The other members of my Triumvirate," She grinned at Miss Vance's horrified incredulity, "Out of all the names we've been called, that has to be my personal favourite."_

" _I–– I see." Isobel continued to beam, gesturing at the younger woman to follow her back into the school and sort this out once and for all." Well, who am I to argue?"_

" _A wise decision, if I do say so myself!"_

_._

**Friday, the 8th of May, 2020**

**7:03 p.m.**

According to Matthew, his mother had ensured everything of importance was removed from the closet, going so far as to take charge of the process herself. Which led to the octet deciding Baxter's plan about the closet was the best one they had. That they were able to pull it off, mostly thanks to sheer dumb luck, made it even better.

How did such a plan come to life, one might ask?

Well, when Phyllis had heard that other schemes the octet had in mind, her gut said they were all a little extreme and very likely to backfire. So when she heard Mrs. Patmore's slip earlier this week, the woman mentioning how safe 403's closet was, the alto had swiftly pieced the rest of the story together and informed the octet of her idea.

Not everyone thought it an ideal plan, but she argued her point. Being stuck in a closet like 403's was something that could be deemed an honest mistake at the end of the day. And, more importantly, this was something none of the Downton or Carlisle staff could be blamed for: how could they have locked her inside if they were handling pre-concert technicalities with plenty of witnesses around?

It helped that Matthew gave his support, saying he had a plan for ensuring nothing important would be damaged. That spurred Mary on to say that she agreed it was a marvelously simple idea –– which, in turn, brought Penelope to say that she would personally work out the finer details to guarantee its success. So on and so forth, until the entire group became invested in working out the whole thing to the best of their advantage.

_._

**7:24 p.m.**

Violet Crawley imperiously examined the concert programme before her, looking intent on studying every aspect once again. This semester's show meant a larger programme than normal, not only listing out the set for the entire show but also explaining the backstory behind each piece as well as citing each character involved.

There were the self-explanatory pieces like "You'll Never Walk Alone" from _Carousel_ –– seeing as how it was her personal selection for the show, she needn't review its summary –– as well as "My Favorite Things" from _The Sound of Music._ But there were far many more pieces that required explanation.

For instance, this _unique_ song she'd never heard of. 

" **As We Stumble Along" (as from** _ **Drowsy Chaperone**_ **)**

Words and Music by: Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison

"As We Stumble Along" follows the Man in the Chair as he explains what the real magic behind musicals truly is. In this finale song, he revisits his favourite musical and remembers the inspiring words of the Drowsy Chaperone –– showing audiences everywhere just how musicals can leap to life.

**Characters (in Order of Appearance):**

Man in the Chair: Evelyn Napier

Maintenance Man: Aaron Avery

Robert Martin: Tony Gillingham

Janet Van de Graaff: Ebony Leigh

George: Joseph Moseley

Feldzieg: Septimus Spratt

Gangsters 1 & 2: Megan Abbott and Gwen Dawson

Mrs. Tottendale: Phyllis Baxter

Underling: Henry Lang

Adolpho: Kemal Pamuk

Kitty: Grace Caldwell

The Drowsy Chaperone: Edith Crawley

Trix the Aviatrix: Laura Foster

Company: The Concert Choir

"'The real _magic_ behind musicals'? 'Musicals can _leap_ to life'?" The administrator regally spoke to her seated companions, arching a disdainful eyebrow at the campy description. Nevertheless, the summary was somewhat tolerable –– at least in comparison to the character names! "Do we know who penned such a _fascinating_ description?"

"I did." Isobel proudly replied, knowing full well how her friend was bound to react. In fact, not that she would ever inform Violet, she'd written every summary knowing full well that the administrator would critique them.

"I suppose you wrote them all, did you?" Really, Violet's wit and cleverness occasionally felt wasted on administrative tasks. A life on the stage or on the silver screen might've been more appropriate for the woman.

Pondering aside, there was really only one response Isobel could give:

"Naturally."

_._

**7:27 p.m.**

With only a few minutes to spare, there shouldn't be any last-minute issues or concerns. Nothing except for a determination to make sure the show started smoothly. Maybe stage-fright or a touch of nerves, but no unexpected anxiety.

Unfortunately, that was _exactly_ what was going on.

"I know the students support us, but what if everyone else's just here to laugh at me, Elsie?" She should've known that he would still be nervous. Really, she should've had him look at those sign-up sheets earlier because it would have eased his nerves much sooner.

Frankly, if anyone was here to heckle them, it would be a waste of their part. After all, the ticket money would go toward supporting the choirs in fundraising efforts. Moreover, the ushers who had volunteered for the night were all well-trained students who knew how to manage disturbances. Therefore, she didn't see the point in worrying about it.

Mind, she knew it would be an entirely different story if she had been the one flung back into the spotlight. It was only last spring she'd had to suddenly compete with Emma Butte for a job here; she didn't have to try very hard when it came to recalling how stressful _that_ had been.

And she'd been given much more preparation with that than he'd had with this last week.

"Charles,"

"I know, I know–– but what if?" His fiancée sent him another look, but this one was tinged with sympathy. She hadn't been interested in chiding him or teasing his nerves. But if he was this nervous, there was only one thing for it.

"If they laugh, which they won't," Elsie knew he wasn't convinced anything else was possible, but she still held out her hand. "Then I know just what to do."

_._

**7:29 p.m.**

In Beryl Patmore's opinion, the last twenty-four hours had been a _hell_ of a whirlwind. _And_ the show hadn't even started! Much as she loved to help with these performances, one of these days she would offer to take a backseat.

And just who she was trying to fool?

There were only a few things she lived for: pulling off shows, teaching band, and being with Albert Mason. Oh, and getting her two idiots to recognize their feelings for each other, but was mostly taken care of by this point.

Anyway, she needed to focus. If only to help anyone suffering from stage fright. Seeing as how she, Elsie, and Charles were singing in Act II with the other teachers, May Bird had to be the one who conducted the orchestra and band kids in the pit throughout the show. And, considering that this wasn't actually a band concert, that meant her current job was to provide backstage support for any last minute emergencies.

As of now, they'd been lucky. No surprises, not many tears –– if any, at all. She'd caught wind of someone's costume possibly being stolen, but Phyllis Baxter had personally reassured her that it'd been all taken care of. And seeing as how Baxter was one of the kindest, most honest students in the school, there wasn't much else to do other than nod and thank the Lord nothing had happened.

Which meant that all she needed to do right now was make sure that the _Rent_ soloists were ready to perform. But that'd been easy enough: Isabel, Robert, and Alyssa were all prepared, professional enough to be in their backstage spots ten minutes before they were needed. And since the curtains had already been drawn up, keeping the risers out of sight until after "Seasons of Love", she had nothing to do.

Except watch as the house lights dimmed.

Smiling to herself, she glanced back at the soloists, taking joy in the excitement spilling across their faces. They were good kids and she was pleased to see them have this opportunity.

Turning back to stage, her gasp was overtaken by the ecstatic applause.

_Both_ Elsie and Charles were taking the stage together, the pair walking in front of the edge as the choir director began to turn the soloist's microphone on.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Beryl could see how stunned he was when the crowd began to enthusiastically shout the appropriate response back, tidbits of tension beginning to ease off his shoulders as a welcoming audience greeted them.

But, not that many would be able to tell, he did look to be in shock. The band director couldn't begin to guess why, she could only watch in relief as Elsie smoothly took hold of the microphone as though it were planned.

"I must say: it is a pleasure for us both to be on this stage and officially welcome you all to the 115th chorale concert at Downton Academy!" The redhead grinned at the fervent excitement from the crowd, throwing in her own approving whistle that the two were on the stage together.

When Elsie's eyes discreetly glanced in her direction, her grin only expanded –– hints of a pleased smirk slipping in.

Needless to say, she would be teasing them about this for as long as she could.

Eventually, the audience quieted out of respect to the individuals on stage. Only when the sound reached a solid _pianissimo_ did the pair continue –– easily going back and forth as they explained how this night differed from their normal concerts. They went on to express their gratuity to the bands and orchestras of Downton Academy for working alongside them for tonight's show. This was in addition to the Yorkshire faculty and students who would be performing tonight with them tonight.

_Speaking of,_ Beryl had noticed that a certain diva hadn't been loitering around backstage. Why Alice Neal wasn't _dignifying_ them with her presence escaped her. But she found she didn't need a reason –– thoroughly enjoying the lack of drama.

"And, now, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Carson beamed, gesturing out into the auditorium before bringing his attention to the soloists backstage, "Please join us in giving a warm applause to the choirs of Downton as they perform "Seasons of Love" from _Rent_."

Everyone did just that, cheering as the house lights began to dim once more and bathe the audience with anticipation.

This was the cue for Beryl to furtively get the soloists walking toward their spots.

Reeling back in a sense of professionalism, the woman quietly informed the three students that it was time to walk on and go be amazing. She continued to look on as they walked past her, excitement holding her attention as Isabel, Robert, and Alyssa brushed past myrtle green curtains to take their places on the stage.

Only once they were situated did three spotlights snap to life, directed right at each individual.

It was time for the show to begin.

_._

**7:43 p.m**

"Seasons of Love" had been _amazing._ Molly had literally gotten goosebumps even as she sang, the Bel Canto soprano loving every second of it. And now it'd be her choir's turn to perform, just as soon as Treble wrapped up "When I Grow Up" from _Matilda_.

" _When I grow up," "Just because you find that life's not fair_

_It doesn't mean that you just have to grin and bear it."_

Annie Mattis was not a name Molly had come to know during her time at Downton. But the budding Treble singer was proving just why she deserved to be known –– doing great justice to her solo.

" _If you always take it on the chin and wear it,_

_Nothing will change."_

Yeah, the auditorium had gotten really dusty. That was the only reason why Molly's eyes were beginning to well up.

" _When I grow up," "Just because I find myself in this story,_

_Doesn't mean that everything is written for me."_

She really needed to focus on the fact that she was dressed like an American in what was called the "Old West". It wasn't really the "Old West", she knew that. But she liked to think it was. And if she didn't focus on her attire, she would get tear-stains all over her plaid top and then she wouldn't be able to concentrate.

" _If I think the ending is fixed already,_

_I might as well be saying I think that it's okay._

_And that's not right!"_

Okay. She'd totally joined in on the applause even though they're never supposed to make any noise backstage. But there was a silver lining! Seeing as how Mrs. Hughes was also proudly clapping for Treble, Molly figured it was all right to join in!

The light darkened in seconds, the Treble Choir cheerfully getting off stage. Some of the girls even curtseyed mid-step, bouncing along happily to the sound of the audience's support. And now it would be Bel Canto's turn to do as good of a job.

But how could they possibly follow an act like that?

Molly tried to block out her anxiety as her cowboy boots clicked-clacked across the stage, taking her spot just like everyone else. Mr. Ross, the choreographer nearly every girl had a crush on, herself included, had instructed them to take up space on the stage. To chill on the risers, stand in the pockets of space, sit on the edge of the stage –– to be wherever they liked in the beginning.

Except she had been told to stand center-stage.

Because, just as she'd hoped all those weeks ago, she finally gotten that solo.

The lights went on and she couldn't stop grinning, listening in to the staged conversation that would start off the song.

"If only I could find a guy who'd make the first move!" Thea Evans complained to everyone watching, causing her to nod in understanding.

"If only I could find a guy who, when he went to kiss me goodnight, would take the toothpick out of his mouth!" Maribel Diaz had been given this particular grievance to air, managing to deliver it well enough the audience gave a proper laugh.

"If only I could find a guy…."

When the audience knowingly chuckled at Olivia's dejected response, Molly knew this was going to go well. It was just a matter of doing her part as best as she could.

" _Where have all the good men gone,"_ She began to ask everyone, her energy infectious, " _And where are all the gods?"_

She didn't have to close her eyes to imagine being back in her kitchen, dancing along with her mum to Bonnie Tyler's voice.

" _Where's the streetwise Hercules_

_Who fights the rising odds?"_

It was wonderful to see her friends start to chime in, " _I'd like to know!"_

" _Isn't there a white-knight upon a fiery steed?"_ The mezzo-soprano was definitely nervous. It wasn't as smooth sounding as when she'd practiced in front of the mirror. But she was bringing her mind back to that kitchen in seconds. " _Late at night I toss and I turn!"_

" _I toss and I turn! Ooh,"_

Beaming right at her mum, knowing where she was in the audience and knowing she'd be proud no matter what, " _And I dream of what I need."_

She took a breath for herself. Took precious seconds to relish the last of her first solo.

" _I need a hero!"_

_._

**7:49 p.m.**

" _So."_

As much as John Drake appreciated being just another member of the choir, he did like his solo.

" _If you ever want something_

_And you call, call,_

_Then I'll come running."_

His voice was not the grandest of the lot, he knew that. Maybe if Matthew or Thomas hadn't already gotten solos, they'd be standing here instead of him. But he liked being here. And he was glad he'd been given the chance.

" _To fight._

_And I'll be at your door._

_When there's nothing worth fighting for."_

It was a gentle applause that embraced John as he slipped back into the choir, letting the building emotions start to envelope him one last time.

" _When your mind's made up!_

_When your mind's made up!_

_There's no point in trying to change it."_

"Once" was an interesting musical. One he found he liked the sound of.

" _When your mind's made up!"_ They were rising again, reverberating between _forte_ and _fortissimo._ Swaying with regret and a hypnotic pain, " _When your mind's up, there's no point in even talking!"_

Their voices rang back and forth, following through on the repeat and _crescendoing_ straight on through to his favourite part of the medley.

" _And if a door be closed!"_ He briefly closed his eyes, wanting only the sensation of that harmony to wash over him. " _And a row of homes start building,"_

" _And tear your curtains down!_

_For sunlight is like gold."_

He could feel that warmth again, the kind that only came when everything was okay.

" _And you better be you_

_And do what you can do."_

John knew his part didn't make sense by itself. The baritone was the opposite of melody most of the time, it filled in the cracks left behind by the other pieces.

" _When you're walking on moonbeams,_

_And staring out to sea."_

But when he could hear everything at once, when every part came together at last, it was fantastic! To hear those beautiful lyrics echoed once more, to catch the subtle differences each time… he would happily do this for as long as he could.

" _And I loved her so._

_I wouldn't trade her for_

_Gold."_

**_._**

**7:52 p.m.**

When the lights snapped back on, the world was greeted with a peculiar sight. Harold Lowe stood as far he could toward the left side of the audience. The teenager was warmly smiling into the crowd, dressed in the distinguished choral attire for the male singers: the traditional tux and black bowtie.

Everyone else, however, was dressed for an entirely different occasion.

Charlotte Williams was dejectedly sat on the floor, a rag in her hand as she looked forlornly off into the distance. Dressed in what looked to hand-me-downs from another era, she was the closest to Harold, a plateau of wistfulness and grief.

William Mason was only a few feet away from her, sitting on a stool center-stage, accompanied by what appeared to a withered down plastic cow. He, too, looked as though all his dreams were slowly being crushed in front of him.

As for the couple to William's left, Charles Blake and Laura Edmunds looked entirely at odds with each other. Blake stood hunched over a plate while Edmunds continued to hold a position of frustration focused away from him.

There were no signs of happiness. Nothing to demonstrate why this particular medley should be considered a fairytale –– at least, in the modern-day, _Disney_ sense. And it was only when these sights of despair truly sank into the audience did Harold begin.

"Once upon a time," Lowe grandly began, gesturing to his immediate left, to Charlotte.

" _I wish,"_ Her lyrics cried to the audience, the rag methodically cleaning the floor as she focused on her task –– brought back to life by his words.

"In a far off kingdom," " _More than anything,"_

"Lived a fair maiden," " _More than life!"_

"A sad young lad," " _More than jewels!"_

" _I wish!"_ It was William's turn to enter the fray, the young lad fraught with worry as he rested a hand on his cow's back.

"And a childish baker," " _More than life," "I wish."_

"With his wife." " _More than anything," "More than the moon!" "I wish."_

" _The king is giving a festival!"_ Charlotte played the role of Cinderella dutifully, the soprano's voice caressing each and every hopeful sentiment in the lyrics.

" _More than life!"_

She carried on, perfectly oblivious to her other companions on stage, " _I wish to go to the festival,"_

" _More than riches!"_

Her rag lay forgotten in her hands for a brief spell, " _And the ball!"_

It was William's turn to take on the wish of his character, Jack, and express it to the crowd: " _I wish my cow would give us some milk!"_

" _More than anything!"_

But it was Laura's outcry as the Baker's Wife that stretched out past the others, " _I wish we had a child,_ _I want a child!"_

" _I wish to go to the festival," "I wish you'd give us some milk or even cheese," "I wish we had a child,"_

The sprightly tune picked up in pace, moving once more into an empowering _crescendo_ as all four individuals began to rise to their feet. It was time for them to begin their respective journeys in this disenchanting collection of fairytales.

" _Into the woods, it's time to go,_

_It may be all in vain you know,"_

Cinderella was pushing herself onto her feet, determinedly standing up as she pocketed the rag at last. Jack looked at his little cow with great sympathy but knew what had to be done. The Baker and his Wife nodded at one another at their task –– resolved when it came to what had to be done.

" _Into the woods, but even so,_

_I have to take the journey!"_

_._

**7:58 p.m.**

" _Someone is on your side," "Our side," "Our side,"_

If only Mary believed that. This last week had proven to be rather informative when it came to who was actually _on_ her side.

" _Someone else is not."_

That seemed a more accurate description for her friendships as of late. Even Charles, much as she didn't want to admit, faded a little. They'd had more of a talk after class on Monday, but it hadn't led to much. Only more confusion for both of them.

" _While we're seeing our side," "Our side," "Our side,"_

" _Maybe we've forgot."_

Mary tilted her head, hearing an intention in those lyrics that she'd not felt before. Looking out into the stage, her ears were concentrating on understanding that difference. On recognizing who was singing with different intentions and figuring out why –– if only because it was different and would distract her for a few seconds.

" _They are not alone,_

_No one is alone,"_

It wasn't Charlotte. The fellow soprano was excellent at playing the role of Cinderella, but her voice had always carried purpose. Her inflections, though tinted with some nerves, remained fairly confident.

" _Hard to see the light now,_

_Just don't let it go,"_

Daisy and William weren't singing right now. Their characters, Little Red Riding Hood and Jack, were letting Cinderella and The Baker comfort them with a soothing reminder–– _oh._

" _Things will come out right now,_

_We can make it so."_

If she didn't know better, it was almost as though Charles Blake was speaking directly to her.

" _Someone is on your side._

_No one is alone."_

Blinking back the endless confusion, straightening out her purple gown, Mary presented herself with a regal air as she stepped out of the backstage area and back toward the others. She let the instruments guide her step, finding it easy to follow the key change that would lead to her solo.

" _Careful the things you say,_

_Children will listen."_

She may have been looking out to everyone on stage, turning her gaze out toward the audience, but she was speaking to him.

" _Careful the things you do,_

_Children will see and learn."_

She didn't have an answer for her behaviour over the last week. She didn't know why she'd encouraged Rose to post that stupid recording, why she couldn't just talk to Charles, nothing.

" _Children may not obey,_

_But children will listen."_

And judging from his eyes, he understood. Understood and was willing to set aside his own bewilderment to keep talking.

" _Children will look to you," "To you,"_

" _For which way to turn,_

_To learn what to be."_

Her tone flourished, the soprano knowing how to take control over her sound without it being forced. Dynamic changes, emphasis, climbing into _forte_ , she knew it all well.

" _Careful before you say,_

' _Listen to me'."_

It was this whole term she was still figuring out. Her feelings, her decisions, all of it.

" _Children will listen!"_

_._

**8:02 p.m.**

Septimus couldn't look at the crowd. Ironically, he didn't have the guts to interact with his audience as much as Mary probably would've. Maybe it was proof that he wasn't supposed to be a soloist, despite what everyone else seemed to think.

" _I'd be the first one to agree_

_That I'm preoccupied with me."_

He heard Gladys give a hushed snort at that even though she had tucked herself away in the wings. She'd heard him sing that part many times and she always thought it too fitting.

" _And it's inbred, kid,_

_So keep your head, kid."_

_Mack and Mabel_ was not a happy musical. Not the original, at least. The characters weren't terribly likeable, most of the music delved into depressing more often than not, and he still found this to be a simple and breathtaking song.

" _In me you'll find things_

_Like guts and nerve._

_But not the kind things_

_That you deserve!"_

He gave himself over to the pain of the song, the regret so tightly embedded in the piece. As a bass, it had been a challenge to reach those higher notes and he took that challenge as a chance to let the emotions pour out. To show that his character wasn't as composed as he pretended to be.

" _And, so, while there's a fighting chance,_

_Just turn and go!"_

Standing here on the stage had been petrifying for the first thirty seconds. Still was a bit petrifying, even minutes into the song. But if this happened to be his only solo at Downton, he would do his best to hold out all the notes he could and take in the fact that he'd surpassed his own expectations. That he'd somehow wound up as the highest male soloist this year, and for some reason he had been given this chance to be on the stage.

" _I won't send roses."_

Septimus paused, acknowledging the chance he had before him. He didn't look at the audience, didn't want to find himself disappointed if they weren't as taken with the song. He just needed to drink in the heat of the spotlights, the fact that he really was here, and that –– for the roller coaster he'd just experienced –– it had been _brilliant._

" _And roses suit you so."_

He continued to stand in the silence, wanting to hold onto this for as long as he could. It was beginning to hit him that this was the moment of truth, this was the time where the audience would show how well or poorly he did. He figured it could go in any direction, seeing as how _Mack and Mabel_ wasn't exactly as well known as _Cats_.

In seconds, he had his answer.

They were applauding! Fervently! For _him_! He wasn't one of many in the bass section, he wasn't hiding behind a computer screen, this was all him!

Except for his accompaniment, of course!

Gesturing to Miss Vance, who was sat at the stage piano in the orchestra pit, Septimus remembered that he was supposed to bow after an applause. He did that, bowled over by the continued adoration that rose out of the crowd before him. Actually, he froze after the bow, smiling as though that would magically whisk him off the stage so the next act could go on.

"Nice job. Try to breathe if you can."

_Oh. That's right._

_I'm_ _**in** _ _the next song._

_But, how_ –– when did Gladys arrive?

Septimus blinked, realizing that the _a cappella_ choir had already started filing on stage, getting ready to put on "Blue Skies". And not only were his friends filing on stage around him, they continued to applaud him alongside the audience as all singers stepped into their positions.

If he was dreaming, he didn't want to wake up anytime soon.

_._

**8:10 p.m**

" _I only know when he began to dance with me."_

Penelope Carlisle eyed the "Bel Canto" choir from the backstage, critically studying the thirty or so singers. It had become habit for her ears to catch all strains of noise –– from weak breath support to overly dark vowels and poor placement.

" _I could have danced, danced,_

_Danced,"_

And what surprised her most of all was that she didn't really hear any of that at Downton. That wasn't to say the school was the best she'd ever come across. None of the choirs, except maybe their "Concert Choir", were near a professional, let alone collegiate, level of performance. But given their ages and probable lack of experience, they weren't making as many mistakes as she'd expected.

" _All night!"_

Truthfully, the soprano figured she was going soft.

She also figured that it didn't really matter, seeing as her octet was seconds away from performing and she was finally getting a chance to show off her gem of a dress. Mirrored after Ethel Merman's pink gown from all those years ago, she would take pride in showing off her status as the lead female singer for the octet. Especially if it meant that she didn't have to sport that crimson thing Mary was currently wearing––

_Oh, stop._

Penelope was tired of being petty. She wasn't going to ever be friends with Mary, true. But they'd just planned and executed a fairly deviant plot. It was infinitely kinder than what she had personally wanted to do, but deviant.

After something like that, the least she could do was respect the girl. And silently watch as Bel Canto shuffled off the other side of the stage, almost all singers beaming with joy at the continuing applause. And, yes, she would acknowledge the fact that they were a decent choir by _not_ mockingly referring to them as "Bel Canto".

Okay. Now she was confusing herself.

Shaking her head, dismissing all the peculiar thoughts of the last five minutes, Penelope watched on as the audience quieted down. Smirking to herself, she could feel the confusion begin to emanate from the house seats: just where was the next act?

Well, the octet and their teachers had agreed it would be fitting for a group calling themselves _The Exception_ to have an atypical entrance. Thus, it was only when Miss Miller gave the signal that they would begin their set.

The young soprano watched her instructor observe the crowd from backstage, expertly drawing out the suspense. Murmurs were beginning to break out, eyes drawn to spotlights running on an empty stage. Only once there was a _crescendo_ of curiosity did the woman cue Connor blow the appropriate pitch from his pitch-pipe, signaling to Matthew that he could begin whenever he wanted to.

Her smirk blossomed, enjoying the thought of this entrance. It should have been stupid to be caught up in something so childish –– she could already hear her father's criticism over the situation –– but Penelope rarely got the chance to have fun with performing. Not like this.

This was going to be fun, she already knew it.

If she was being honest, it was already _much_ more fun than she ever anticipated.

" _I hear singing and there's no one there."_ Matthew was slowly wandering across the stage, looking so very, very lost. " _I smell blossoms and the trees are bare."_

David soon joined him from the other side, a beautiful harmony breaking out between bass and lead as the two began to contemplate their feelings, " _All day long I seem to walk on air,"_

" _I wonder why,"_ Thomas and Connor had gradually made their way to the pair, having been sure to come from different directions. They'd agreed it was best to throw the audience off-guard, just like how their character was supposed to be. " _I wonder why."_

" _I keep tossing in my sleep at night,  
And what's more I've lost my appetite."_

The quartet softly formed in the center, but there was still something missing.

Something lacked in their voices, something she was sure even the audience could detect.

" _Stars that used to twinkle in the skies_

_Are twinkling in my eyes._

_I wonder why."_

There was an orderliness to the four young ladies as they each stepped out into the openness of the stage. Each was well-positioned to reach out to her counterpart, ready to step up and confidently clear the whole mess up.

" _You don't need analyzing!_

_It's not so surprising_

_That you feel very strange but nice!"_

The girls were balanced in tone, quite possibly their best start.

" _Your heart goes pitter-patter,_

_I know just what's the matter,_

_Because I've been there once or twice."_

Maybe they should do this sort of thing more often. They'd certainly come a long way from their first rehearsal, where everyone had been aloof and unsure.

" _Put your hand on my shoulder,_

_You need someone who's older,_

_A rub down with a velvet glove!"_

Four voices melded together as their respective counterparts listened to the musical advice, as though they were all friends who'd known each other for years. As though this wasn't their first show together, but they'd long since learnt everyone's vocal modulations and quirks.

" _There is nothing you can take_

_To relieve that pleasant ache._

_You're not sick, you're just in love!"_

And when the octet finally came together as one, eight individuals blended their personalities into one sound. And it all rang so beautifully she was stunned.

The soprano was too well-trained to reveal it, but she was stunned.

_._

**8:19 p.m.**

" _Walk on," "Walk on through the wind,"_

" _Walk on," "Walk on through the rain."_

" _Though your dreams be tossed and blown."_

Andy Parker certainly felt like his dreams were being tossed around! Watching the Bass Choir belt out the last part of their bit for Act I, he knew he was only _minutes_ away from his solo in _Les Mis_. That his family was in the crowd, having been waiting for "One Day More" all night. That he'd be so humiliated if it all went wrong now.

" _Walk on, walk on,_

_With hope in your heart._

_And you'll never walk alone."_

He really couldn't bring himself to trust the sentiment, frustratingly so.

" _You'll never walk_

_Alone!"_

Andy was a little relieved Bass Choir had taken to risers for this because it meant they'd all be taking extra time when getting off the stage. Which meant he had a little more time to try to remember his lyrics and try not to panic and think of all the ways this could go wrong.

"Remember my friend, Andy Parker?" Her lips were on his cheek before he realized what happened, the tenor gaping at the warmth now caressing him. "He really _is_ rather brilliant, I'll have you know. You should try to catch his performance when he goes on in a bit."

"Ellie," But she was already making her way to her own spot backstage, beaming as she did so. He couldn't help a blush, all nerves gone as he lifted a hand to his cheek, trying his best to recall the sensation. Still, he had to try to whisper to her, if only because he didn't want her to think he was insulted or that she should never do that again: " _You're_ brilliant."

He could hear her own blush from where he stood, forgetting everything else. The applause in the distance, his solo in _Les Mis_ , nothing mattered except realizing what had just happened.

" _One day more."_

When had John started singing? How had he missed the instruments starting to play?

" _Another day, another destiny."_ Bates was indeed center-stage, resolved as ever. Andy had known he would make a good Valjean ever since he saw the baritone's name on the callbacks list. But he loved having that proved over and over again, today especially." _This never-ending road to cavalry. These men who seem to know my crime will surely come a second time! One day more."_

And there was Aaron, somehow managing to have quickly changed out of his tuxedo and into his costume for Marius.

" _I did not live until today,_

_How can I live when we are parted?"_

And there was Ellie.

" _One day more."_

Singing right at Aaron even though her eyes drifted in his direction just once.

But once was more than enough.

" _Tomorrow you'll be worlds away._

_And yet with you my world has started."_

How true that was.

" _One more day all on my own!"_ Andy had completely forgotten about Ruby taking on the role of Eponine. He really shouldn't have, considering how often they'd all rehearsed, but he absolutely did.

" _Will we ever meet again?" "One more day with him not caring!"_

" _I was born to be with you." "What a life I might've known."  
_" _And I swear I will be true." "But he never saw me there!"_

It was absolutely the time for Andy to join the others on stage, to demand Marius and others join him in this revolution –– something he had almost forgotten!

" _One more day before the storm!" "Do I follow where she goes?"_

_Please, please,_ _ **please**_ _don't mess this up._ His nerves were obvious, but it was less from stage-fright and more from actually forgetting his solo for a second.

" _At the barricade of freedom!" "Shall I join my brothers there?"_

He couldn't help but steal a glance in her direction, finally understanding what Mrs. Hughes had meant when she'd repeatedly told him to "make the butterflies fly in formation". It really wasn't about getting rid of nerves or pretending to be fine. It was only about taking all of that energy and channeling it into something, building off of it.

" _When our ranks begin to form," "Do I stay or do I dare?"_

" _Will you take your place with me?"_

All of the other choirs began to do just that: take their places and fill the auditorium with as much energy as they could.

" _The time is now,_

_The day is here!"_

And though he still had minutes of singing to get through, Andy knew it would all work out.

" _One day more!"_

__.__

**8:26 p.m.**

It was with a mixture of gleeful exuberance that Elsie fiercely applauded for the choirs, cheering as "One Day More" came to a triumphant end. They hadn't needed anyone to conduct for almost the entire show, shining as capable musicians throughout the whole last hour. Truly, they had all done an amazing job throughout all of Act I and she couldn't be prouder!

"Ready?"

She turned to her future husband, arching an eyebrow in response.

"What do you think?"

If only she could remember what felt different about today, what seemed to be missing.

But before anymore thoughts could declare themselves, his lips were on hers and she remembered the priorities in life –– pleased they could have this moment.

If only the interruptions weren't inevitable.

"Mrs. Hughes! Have you seen my costume for '42nd Street'?"

It didn't make sense as to why she would've seen Jimmy's outfit in the midst of this performance. But, sighing to herself, she sent Charles an apologetic smile. When that didn't help to ease his frustration, she rose to her tiptoes and softly reminded him of one final thing:

Interruptions were only _fermatas_ in the grand scheme, not the whole song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes Act I! Sunday Night, Act II!
> 
> And, if you're interested in the other song that weren't "sung" in the first half of the show **,** here they are!
> 
> "Seasons of Love" / _Rent_ / "Seasons of Love (SATB Choir) - Arranged by Roger Emerson"
> 
> "Blue Skies" / _Betsy_ / "Cal Jazz Choir 'Blue Skies' - West Coast A Cappella Fall 2014"
> 
> "Embraceable You" / _Crazy for You_ / "Embraceable You - Multitrack - A Cappella"
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed today's chapter! Cya in just a few days!


	19. A Song Not Sung in Vain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a few hours past Sunday, but I hope the update itself makes up for it! Moreover, I will respond to any/all reviews for the last chapter later today (I'm afraid all I could do was give the update, but I will be responding as soon as I can!)
> 
> Also! A music clarification: even though Mrs. Bird is in the orchestra pit with all the instrumentalists, she doesn't conduct when any of the choir teachers are conducting. She only conducts when the choir students are left to their own devices, so to speak.
> 
> And now, **the songs you'll be hearing today:**
> 
> "42nd Street" / _42nd Street_ / ""The St. John's Boys' Choir - 42nd Street"
> 
> "Hushabye Mountain" / _Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang!_ / "Hushabye Mountain - The Yale Alley Cats"
> 
> "Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You? / _The Music Man_ / " "Main Street - Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You?" (feat. The Treblemakers) (2015) "
> 
> "It's You" / _The Music Man_ / I couldn't find the version I based this off of, the one with the opening lyrics we will be hearing today. **The closest version is this:** "It's You (for Women's Voices), arr. By Robert Rund"
> 
> "As We Stumble Along (Reprise)" / _The Drowsy Chaperone_ / "Pittsburgh Playhouse's Drowsy Chaperone: As We Stumble Along (Finale)"
> 
> "This is the Moment" / _Jekyll and Hyde_ / "Masters of Harmony- This is the Moment"
> 
> Now, who's ready to have some fun?

**Friday, the 8th of May, 2020**

**8:36 p.m.**

Wisps of soft myrtle were caught in her hands, the sensation exhilarating. But she knew better than to play with the curtain's edge forever. They were minutes away from the end of Intermission. Moments away from getting to have some real fun.

Turning back to the risers hidden by the stage curtains, Rose MacClare couldn't keep from grinning at the sight. She was the only in a tux, having managed to convince both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes to let her get away with it. The rest of the Concert Choir was smartly dressed as though they were straight out of the 1930s –– something she thought was amazing to see.

But what was more amazing was that she still had this solo.

After the whole video incident, Mrs. Hughes had given her a stern talking to about posting anything on the Internet without permission. It had scared Rose into thinking that this was the biggest mistake she'd ever made as a singer–– doubtlessly going to cost her the respect of the woman and who knew what else. She hadn't realized it was such a big deal but that only became more and more apparent.

Eventually, they'd reached an understanding. Had a frank discussion. She'd been given a chance to explain her reasoning and admit that she didn't realize the impacts of her actions. Mrs. Hughes wasn't entirely pleased with the outcome, but the choir teacher did understand that the trouble that came out of this wasn't intentional.

So, now there were stricter agreements when it came to running the social media pages among other things.

All she could think was that she was never making that mistake again.

Through the curtains she could see the house lights flicker, signaling that they were thirty second away from starting. The audience quieted down immediately, knowing the drill by this point. She herself only had seconds to take hold of her cane and wait for her signal to break through the curtains and start her solo.

With a resolved nod and a playful gleam in her eyes, Rose played the waiting game.

And when it was time, she confidently began.

Wind instruments grandly swung through the air as she commanded everyone's attention. The blinding spotlight was right on her, the heat of the limelight reminding her that this was for real. In the distance, she envisioned the rumbling of New York's subway trains and the taxis that careened through all the islands of the city. The onslaught of urban life digging into every crack on the pavement, the chatter seeping into every crevice. That old-fashioned grime cities never got rid of, the endless crowds filled with a pride she couldn't even begin to imagine.

It was divine.

" _In the heart of little old New York,_

_You'll find a thorough-fare."_

It was as easy as taking a selfie, years of singing along and dancing to this song making tonight child's play. She kept all the energy into singing and her facial expressions for now, lazily leaning on the cane as though she wasn't a few measures away from breaking out into a dance.

" _It's the part of little old New York_

_That runs into Times Square."_

One day, she would be right there. She probably wouldn't be able to keep from singing, being in the heart of Manhattan, but it didn't matter. All that did was knowing that she would get there one day.

" _A crazy quilt that 'Wall Street Jack' built."_ Without taking a single breath, she carried right on with the swanky solo, " _If you've got a little time to spare, I want to take you there."_

Swaying with the piano, her cane just another part of her body, Rose began slowly but filled with confidence. " _Come and meet those dancing feet."_ She drank in the sultry tones wafting out of the orchestra pit as they enveloped her, coolly sustaining every note she had to sing, " _On the avenue I'm taking you to,"_

" _Forty-second Street."_

" _Hear the beat,"_ Though it was nothing like the horns that would have marvelously blared away on the Original Broadway Recording, Rose still took a great deal of pleasure in letting those jazzy notes meld into her step, throwing in a little twirl in rhythm with the time. " _Of dancing feet."_

Her body melted into the dance, every movement as velvety as the curtains. Not the type of fast-paced dancing she'd auditioned with, but one that she held the same solid control over.

" _It's the song I love the melody,"_

Rose took her sweet time with this next _fermata_ , wanting to make sure the audience savoured every bit of the piece. Her solo, the choir springing to action, it all had to be brilliant. Not nice, not quaint. Brilliant.

" _Forty-second Street!"_

_._

**8:52 p.m.**

She was nervous and there was nothing to be done for it. John's presence hadn't been enough. Mary's earlier attempt to help was kind but her friend was a better soprano than she was a motivational speaker.

It had been amazing to start off "Seasons of Love" with no sign of trouble. Green really hadn't shown up, nothing had gone wrong. And that had been wonderfully brilliant until she realized it probably meant her solo was going to be awful.

Nothing ever did work out perfectly, right? There were always flaws in everything, weren't there? It only made sense that she would go down in flames during her last year at Downton.

"Are you all right?"

Anna certainly hadn't expected Lavinia Swire to be anywhere nearby. _A cappella_ wouldn't be on for another three songs and the Concert Choir only had one last bit near the end. There was no reason for the mezzo-soprano to be backstage, decked out in her cowboy gear and ready for "Anything You Can Do".

"I'm fine." It was automatic, something that both she and Lavinia recognized. It made her thoughts stumble, a bit of guilt creeping in. "Well, I guess I'm just nervous is all."

"I can't even imagine." Anna smiled at that, still surprised that the shy girl was even talking to her. "Were you nervous before? At the competition?"

"Actually, no." She'd forgotten all about that.

"Really?"

Anna faintly nodded, caught in the memory of what had happened.

She'd been nervous at first. But then she'd remembered that the song wasn't about her. It was about defending someone else. Standing up for the rights of another, a person wrongly accused of terrible acts. She couldn't be nervous about herself when she was supposed to sing on someone else's behalf. It couldn't happen then and it wouldn't happen now.

"Really."

_._

**8:57 p.m.**

" _A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain_

_Softly blows on Lullaby Bay."_

Elsie always loved this song. _Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang!_ wasn't her favourite musical, especially because she _truly_ found some of the songs to be… a great example of the mindset from the era. But "Hushabye Mountain" had always been a favourite. When Albert had requested it, she was all for it. Especially once Charles had found this stunning _a cappella_ arrangement!

" _It fills the sails of boats that are waiting,_

_Waiting to sail your worries away._

If only Elsie could do just that. Send-off her worries and let them drift out to sea. Never have to put up with scheming colleagues hellbent on stirring up trouble, never have to tolerate coquettish––

Except, she hadn't, had she?

This last hour or so had been especially carefree. There were the normal concerns that came with a concert, but nothing histrionic. A placid atmosphere was scattered amongst the backstage area, pockets of stage-fright lining the crevices but not much else.

With that realization, Elsie knew what had been missing.

Turning around from watching the show, the teacher knew she was right.

Alice Neal was nowhere in sight.

And she'd been perfectly oblivious until now.

It was childish but she wanted to go back to her earlier ignorance. Really, if that woman were a student, she would've lost the right to perform months ago. Why should they train her and everyone else to believe that behaviour was acceptable?

Except she wasn't a student. She was an authority figure. Someone they had to work with in a professional capacity. And, unfortunately, she was once Charles' friend. Someone he trusted, years ago. Probably someone he still hoped would change their ways, even though Elsie doubted it.

So even though she loathed to ask, "Has anyone seen Miss Neal?"

The Treble Choir, quietly milling in preparation of their own song, were clueless. Quiet shrugs and perturbed frowns emerged, her suspicion becoming confirmed. And since none of the teachers were hanging about, not needed for a few more songs, she couldn't ask one of them to go find the woman. Worst still, with Charles currently directing the choir, Beryl checking on something downstairs, that meant it was up to her to sort this mess out.

Because she certainly wouldn't subject Linda to another round of horrible treatment. The teaching assistant had dealt with enough and shouldn't be her responsibility.

There was still a little snag.

"And just how am I supposed to find her?"

Elsie hadn't meant to mutter aloud, but she was frustrated. The Treble Choir was right after "Hushabye Mountain" and she was the conductor for that. And, yes, _a cappella_ wouldn't need her for "Anything You Can Do", but she was supposed to be getting ready for her own act by that point! She hadn't factored in Alice deciding to emulate Mrs. Butte by doing a runner at the last second.

Of course, was that really the woman's style?

Elsie hadn't wanted to mention a word of this to Charles, seeing as how he'd once been friends with the woman, but she suspected Alice would try to pull something tonight. But vanishing into thin air? That didn't seem like her. Mind, her absence did cause a problem. If something had happened to the woman, if this wasn't all perfectly innocent, it could stir up even more trouble. Which, when she gave it more thought, did fit the woman's penchant for drama.

Briefly, the teacher wondered if something had been planned to keep the woman out of the way. But Linda couldn't lie, Beryl would be too smug to keep it a secret, Charles couldn't do such a thing, and the students were clueless. So, no, there wasn't some sort of plot. This was either an innocuous mistake or Alice was about to spring something on them.

Wearily looking around the backstage area, Elsie waited for the latter to prove itself to be the case. When Miss Neal hadn't suddenly materialized out of nowhere, when nothing had changed, she could only sigh in vague relief.

"Mrs. Hughes," Oh, she'd forgotten all about Abigail! The delightful young lady had offered to be of assistance for the show, stating that she wanted to repay Downton for the opportunity it'd given her. "Would you like me to look for Miss Neal?"

A student really shouldn't be in charge of such responsibility. And no one should have to put up with Alice Neal's antics.

_But_ Abigail's act was done for the day, and she had already proven herself to be a respectable and capable individual. One who was professional enough to not give any credence to Alice's backhanded taunts.

And, unfortunately, there was nothing else that could be done. The Bass Choir was seconds away from ending, and she couldn't delay the show on Alice's behalf. Her principles couldn't stand such a thing!

" _And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain,_

_Sail far away from Lullaby Bay."_

"All right." Abigail's kind smile minutely widened as this concession, "But check the second fourth floor first before you go down to the dressing rooms. That is," She sighed, remembering which school the young singer attended, "Try to see if someone can help take you up to the rooms."

"Don't you remember?" The singer began to ask, a little concerned. "We were all given the grand tour after our last rehearsal!"

Elsie was surprised she'd forgotten that, having discussed the idea with Phoebe only a week prior _._ Phoebe confessed that some of the students were concerned about getting around the building. It seemed only logical to give them a tour of the place to assuage any concerns.

"Mrs. Hughes," Abigail looked to be a lot more sympathetic than she needed to be. "If she's in the building, I'll be sure to find her."

The teacher nodded, ignoring the fact that she would prefer the alternative to be the case.

"Thank you, Abigail." Elsie mentally cringed at the fervent applause coming from the house, knowing that was her cue to get ready to conduct. "I doubt that's where Miss Neal will be, but it never hurts to check."

"Of course." A serious glint overtook the young lady as she grasped a determined air. "You can count on me."

Somehow, Elsie knew she really could.

**_._**

**9:01 p.m.**

Abigail had been hoping that it would be Mrs. Hughes who officially noticed SWDNTBN's absence. She'd built enough of a rapport with the woman that her help wouldn't be questioned. The plan had been simple: Abigail would shadow the woman whilst Mary was in charge of following Mr. Carson. That way, whenever either teacher finally noticed the absence, the octet had everything well in-hand.

Of course, they did have to rely on luck for most of this. Planning only led to so much.

But, much to her glee, it was all paying off.

Abigail discreetly left the auditorium, pleased that the stairwells to the second fourth floor were right there. She liked Mrs. Hughes, she really did. She even liked Mr. Carson, though she thought the choir director could loosen up a little. Either way, when she'd they were being worn to the ground along with Miss Miller and Mrs. Barnes, she'd been irritated to say the least.

That irritation only increased when she'd encountered SWDNTBN for herself.

But if she went down that rabbit hole, she would miss the opportunity before her! And that certainly wouldn't do, not one bit.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Abigail smiled at the thought of SWDNTBN being taken out of the picture. Being in a closet wasn't fun, she should know. But she'd seen the size of 403's and knew that it had enough space and light to keep claustrophobia far away. And Phyllis' plan really was _much_ nicer than what she'd been concocting –– let alone what Penelope had been advocating for!

Making her way past the last flight of steps, Abigail kept her movements as close to _sotto voce_ as possible. She didn't need to give herself away, and she didn't know how soundproof the floor really was.

In retrospect, she needn't bother keeping quiet. She'd heard the muffled rage all the way from the hallway, the noise loud enough to hide her steps.

Initially, the young lady couldn't make out the words from where she stood. But as she approached the nearest door of 403, the message became clearer.

"DON'T THEY KNOW WHO I AM?"

Abigail bit back a snort at the rhetorical question. Maybe had the woman not resorted to petty critiques and callous remarks she might have garnered more sympathy. As it was, the Carlisle student had half a mind to keep the instructions on the doors –– the papers from before that said to go straight to the auditorium.

But, there was no need to keep anything up, certainly not it might give the plot away. And since all the teachers were set to go on in a few minutes, Alice wouldn't be leaving that closet anytime soon.

_Now, I_ _ **did**_ _find her._ And that was what she promised Mrs. Hughes.

Nothing about retrieving the woman.

So, now it was time to go back downstairs, do a quick check of the dressing rooms to truthfully say she'd looked, and report back.

_._

**9:07 p.m.**

"I'm afraid I didn't see her, Mrs. Hughes."

Charles Carson didn't want to admit how pleased he'd been pleased to hear Abigail Hankins say that. When Elsie had first informed him of the problem, letting him know once Treble finished "Over the Rainbow", he'd been conflicted about the whole thing. On one hand, her absence meant less of a headache for everyone. On the other hand, something could be seriously wrong.

Except, if something was seriously wrong, why wasn't Grigg concerned?

Why was he content to hang about as though his partner-in-crime wasn't missing?

Maybe Alice was pulling what he'd begun to call a "Mrs. Butte"? Abandon them at the last second, try her best to make them fall apart?

Well, whatever his former friend had planned, it wouldn't work. Joyce and Phoebe were perfectly capable of singing lead with or without her when it came to "Lida Rose". And "It's You" would be just as perfect. Truthfully, everyone would probably do better if Alice wasn't around. _Not_ that he'd state as such.

In all honesty, he only had one real question:

_Why, after everything, have you vanished now?_

Charles hadn't wanted to mention anything to Elsie, but he'd been distressed at the thought of Alice trying something at the last minute. That had been her style in the past –– last minute surprises that guaranteed everyone's attention. She liked to latch onto the limelight any way she could, much to his disappointment.

But this was the last minute! Perhaps not literally, but the faculty group was two minutes away from going on stage. If she didn't show up in the next sixty seconds, they would have to go on without her.

At least, that was what he hoped they would do. He wouldn't dare to assume a thing, not knowing how the others felt about the matter.

"There's no sign of her?"

The choir director swatted aside his thoughts at the sound of Joyce's inquiry, needing to know what everyone else was thinking. Perhaps their fellow teachers were feeling sympathetic after all this time? After all, Alice hadn't personally attacked any of them with barbed comments and stupid flirtations. They'd received minimal criticism from the woman –– maybe they hadn't really noticed her other actions.

He certainly hoped that wasn't the case. But he was prepared for anything and understood this to be a tenuous situation, to say the least.

"I'm afraid not." Abigail quietly confessed, the dear student looking so troubled by the whole situation. It wasn't her fault that she hadn't been able to find and retrieve Alice –– if the woman didn't want to be found, she wouldn't.

Joyce sighed, having figured as such. "Well, there's no point in ringing her mobile. It's still in her coat downstairs. I suppose that's that."

Charles blinked. Midsomer's director didn't sound half as concerned as he would've suspected, swiftly concluding their next course of action.

"Joyce is right." _What?_ Dickie was agreeing wholeheartedly. With even less concern than Joyce. In fact, if Charles wasn't mistaken, the man's cheery attitude had significantly brightened at the prospect. "I'm afraid there's no time left to conduct another search. We'll just have to do the set without her."

At least Elsie looked to be equally stupefied by the conversation.

"And if she turns up at the last second?" Miss Vance didn't seem to believe what was happening, eyeing all the teachers warily.

"Well, we can't leave the stage if she suddenly shows up. She'll have to remain backstage if she's late, right, Charles, Elsie?" The teachers in question pivoted to Anthony, taken aback by the man's eager tone.

Charles turned to Elsie, oblivious as to the appropriate response. If he had it his way, Alice wouldn't have been a part of this at any point in time. However, to say such a thing aloud was the epitome of foolishness.

"Pretty sure," Beryl was doing nothing to conceal her delight, taking over once it was clear the choir teachers were much too speechless. "Downton's performance rules state as such."

Downton didn't have official performance rules.

Rules for the audience and auditorium behaviour, strict guidelines for performing, but that was it.

And Charles was too shocked to contradict her.

"Right." It seemed Elsie was regaining her voice, looking at him for permission to agree. Not that she needed it, though he appreciated the sentiment. "We'll do everything like normal. Just remember that Anthony was right –– we can't leave the stage if she suddenly shows up. She'll have to remain backstage if she's late."

"My only question is who should speak on her behalf?" Joyce wondered aloud, reminding everyone that Alice was in charge of speaking in the middle of their act.

In the traditional barbershop fashion, the teachers would all remain on stage for both songs. They'd go from their final poses in "Lida Rose" to standing in a half-circle for "It's You", but there would be a minute or two of explanation. Alice had volunteered to do all the speaking, something the others hadn't had the energy to challenge.

But she obviously couldn't explain anything if she wasn't on stage.

"Charles, Elsie, it's your show. If anyone should do the speaking, it's the two of you."

"Actually," He started to speak, finally regaining his own voice. But he was interrupted in seconds, as he should've known.

"Don't even think of volunteering me, Charles."

The man's tone turned sheepish, "Well, I do think you're the most qualified."

"I think everyone's heard enough of my voice tonight." Elsie countered, crossing her arms as she did so. The last thing she wanted for people to assume she'd tried to replace Alice tonight. It was unlikely that anyone would, seeing as how the speaking part wasn't listed in the programme, but she wasn't taking any chances.

"I can do the explanation." Miss Vance volunteered, not wanting anymore conflict. Really, she was just happy that this wasn't a dream.

"All right." He didn't really want to agree, thinking his fiancée deserving of the privilege. She'd been the one to start this group, even if Alice had taken over. "I suppose there's nothing to do but wait."

Except, of course, that was precisely when the _a cappella_ choir finished their last song.

Typical! He didn't even have time to ask Grigg why on earth the man had no objection to this, why his former friend remained silent throughout this entire discussion. Granted, it was unlikely Charles would've ever worked up the courage to put such a question forth. Given the time restraint, of course, and nothing else.

Still, sometimes he felt as though he were in a novel. One wherein the writer was content to wreak havoc on his nerves until a suitable interruption had been found.

_Of all the ideas!_

There was only one conclusion for it: he really needed to get more sleep.

That, and a long _uninterrupted_ vacation with his future wife.

**_._**

**9:14 p.m.**

" _Will I ever tell you?"_

Briefly closing her eyes at the sound of Francesca beautifully swiping through the baritone notes, Elsie inwardly sighed in contentment at the sound of those tantalizing chords soaring out around her. She really missed bringing barbershop back to life, having not realized how captivating it was until right now.

" _Ah, no."_

Swaying back and forth in the dreamy haze of stage lights, Elsie couldn't help but feel a funny sense of gratuity toward Alice Neal. Not for the woman's attitude, of course, and certainly not because she'd abandon them at the last second. But, had she not been so determined to involve herself with this performance of theirs, Elsie wouldn't have gotten a chance to perform like this by Charles' side.

The smattering of applause was a lovely way to be pulled out of her reverie, the choir teacher beaming as old habits greeted her. The teachers temporarily parted ways, each walking up to the edge of the stage and bowing as a group –– much like a quartet might've.

And as they made their way back, now forming that traditional half-circle barbershop was known for, Elsie felt her attention drift back to Linda.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that last piece was a combination of 'Lida Rose' and 'Will I Ever Tell You?", two songs from Meredith Willson's _The Music Man_." But the teaching assistant faltered before she could get started, not used to speaking on the spot. Not in front of a crowd at least.

It was a nerve-wracking thing, particularly when impulsively done.

"I'm sure it'll come as a complete surprise to hear that our next song also hails from _The Music Man_." The good-natured laughter rang out long before Elsie realized she'd spoken up. But she really wasn't in the mood to have everyone's attention, seeing as how this was Alice's last chance to make an appearance and spin any story she wished.

"Unfortunately, we didn't have the budget to bring in 'Seventy-Six Trombones'." Bless Joyce Barnaby for understanding the importance of dead-panning and improvisation. To help illustrate her point, Mrs. Bird cued the trombonists in the pit to blast away a mini-tune, sparking even more chortles from the crowd.

"But we do have the capability to bring you one final treat!" Dickie chimed in, beaming. "And would like to dedicate this next song to the only engaged couple on the stage."

The two teachers in question hadn't been prepared for the sudden attention, both furiously blushing away.

"Because if it weren't for them," Beryl spoke over the fierce applause, grinning, "We wouldn't have this show in the first place!"

More approval broke out, some people rising to their feet.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," It seemed Charles could only take so much improvisation, taking the reins back before Francesca, Phoebe, Anthony, or Grigg decided to contribute to the dialogue. " _The Music Teachers,_ "

"A fitting name for our group, considering the songs!" He looked at Miss Miller, somewhat understanding her desire to pipe up. He simply wanted to get this show back on the road before something else happened.

"Yes, definitely fitting." He didn't glare at the remaining teachers, the ones who haven't spoken up yet, but it was a close thing. "And now, _The Music Teachers_ are proud to present 'It's You'."

"As from Meredith Willson's _The Music Man._ " Elsie couldn't help cheekily remind her fiancé that that wasn't a proper introduction for the piece, something that only garnered exasperation. But she couldn't help herself: barbershop was about cracking jokes on stage, explaining and transitioning between songs, interacting with their audience, and having fun.

And for the first time in months, she felt she was doing just that.

This was the very same moment that she realized she would be stepping away from the role of singing bass and taking on the lead along with almost everyone else. As this was a four-part piece in the women's key, they'd had to rearrange themselves. Charles, Dickie, and Grigg would sing bass. Anthony and Francesca would share baritone. Beryl, Joyce, and Phoebe would take the lead with her. And Linda would keep hold of tenor.

It was almost as though it was falling into place. Stepping back into her old barbershop role, continuing to stand by Charles and be surrounded by friends, she was almost convinced she was dreaming.

That is, until Charles nudged her into bringing out her pitch pipe into the open once more. If this were a dream, he would have been much more romantic about the whole thing!

Bringing the small instrument to her lips, she played the appropriate pitch and gave everyone a chance to build their first chord. Much like a series of bells ringing out, the four notes were softly hummed away one after the other. And drinking in one final refreshing breath, she shared a look with her fellow leads –– ready to start them off.

_"Many a love song 'bout many a boy,_

_Many a broken heart."_

It was relaxed, carefree despite the lyrics. She could even feel energy in the air, the kind that came with intentional singing and locked chords. The air literally vibrated with a warmth they hadn't experienced as a group, one she had greatly missed over the years.

_"Moon up above songs, one bold and one coy._

_Never enough songs about tears full of joy."_

With each passing breath, tension eased. It wasn't about singing the notes correctly or hitting all the rhythms. For the first time, this had turned into purely enjoying everyone's company.

_"Many a love song's been sung in vain. They speak of a love so new,"_ Her hands softly lifted through the measure of music, blissfully listening to Linda soar across her tenor notes. Her voice hadn't soared before today, but now it soared and sparkled and gave life. " _Yet there's only but one song that's truer than true."_

Their voices tenderly dipped, caressing _piano-forte_ with a simplicity she'd forgotten existed. Really, they ought to do this more often, get together and sing. It did wonders for her, every beautiful chord a balm for all the tension of the term.

_"This song I sing,"_

_"To you,"_ One by one, starting from the basses and rippling up to the tenor, all ten voices came together, delicately trailing through the bell-chord, " _To you."_

  
And when it was at last the moment they'd all been waiting for. After this tranquil _fermata_ , the lyrics would sweetly cross into familiarity, and they would get into the heart of the song.

_"It's you in the sunrise._

_It's you in my cup._

_It's you on the way into town."_

Their parts may have different notes, but their voices were indistinguishable. Each sang to their own loved ones –– husbands, wives, partners, old friends who kept them going, family always by their side. Each had an image of the people in their life that meant the most, speaking directly to them.

_"It's your sweet 'Hello, dear' that sets me up._

_And it's your 'Gotta go, dear' that gets me down."_

Elsie had personally never believed anyone could ever make her feel the way Joe did. And Charles didn't do that. But her love for him was just as strong, if not different.

_"It's you on my pillow,"_ She'd been able to ignore Beryl's teases about that up until now, allowing a small smile to escape as the redhead cast a knowing look. " _In all my dreams, 'till once more the morning breaks through_."

_"What words could be saner or truer_

_Or plainer than 'It's you'?_

_It's you, just you." "Only you."_

They climb once more from swaying dulcet tones to a more fervent admission, one that reached for _forte_ and wouldn't let go for anything in the world.

_"It's you on my pillow! At each break of dawn!"_ Something the woman could only hope would remain the case from here on out. " _The feeling that life can go on!" "On and on!"_

She didn't need to look out to see the mist building in the crowd. She could only imagine what her own face looked like, knowing he was the same. And she didn't know who reached for the other's hand, only that it'd happened and she wouldn't dare let go.

_"What words could be_

_Saner? Or truer? Or plainer_

_Than 'It's you'."_

_"It's you."_ The group languidly swirled through each chord, the layers of harmony deepening one final time.

_"It's you."_ It was easy to hold a note out for twenty seconds and post whilst the others sang on. Trusting someone, letting them into her life? Deciding it was worth the risk to try marriage again when it could all go wrong once again?

That was difficult.

_"None could be saner or truer than true,"_ This time, Elsie couldn't help a gaze in his direction, listening to his hypnotic timber brush over each and every word. " _It's you."_

_"It's you."_

**_._**

**9:19 p.m.**

Cora couldn't describe the jubilation she'd felt when she'd gone to pick up her mother from the airport today. The trek all the way to Heathrow had been a breeze despite the distance, her excitement enough to keep the administrator going throughout the day.

And now that they were nearing the end of the show, she could only reaffirm that inviting her mother out had been the right move. Granted, Martha Levinson was bound to hop onto a plane with or without an invitation –– considering how much of a fan of the choirs she was. But it was wonderfully assuring to know that she'd officially invited her mother to take part in tonight.

"Oh, _Drowsy's_ next?" Of course she knew this piece. Cora was only now beginning to realize just how much musical theatre knowledge the woman really held. " _Finally_ , some real fun––"

"Mother," Cora began to reprimand, though it was in vain: someone else was already shushing them from a few seats away. Glaring in the direction of whoever had tried to silence her, the younger American found it best to roll her eyes and proceed to look on toward the performance –– wondering what her mother could possibly have meant.

The stage looked to be darker than normal for this last piece of the Concert Choir, though Cora could almost swear there was some sort of helicopter in the distance. But before she could begin to say anything about it to Robert, two flashlights came on stage –– torches, if she remembered the English equivalent correctly.

"I am _really_ sorry about this," The first flashlight-carrier-person spoke, Cora soon realizing it was Evelyn Napier. So he was this mysterious _Man in Chair_ listed in the program? Well, she didn't see where his chair was or why there wasn't any singing just yet. "I don't know why the power went out––"

"It's all right," Well, she didn't know who that second student was, not by voice. He was familiar but not recognizable. "Here we go."

Stage lights flicked back on, illuminating a fantastic set-up. She saw a whole range of 1920s-inspired costumes scattered about, each singer holding some sort of grand pose as though they were already in the midst of a finale. Chefs, flappers, servants, an aviator, they all started singing full-voice the moment the lights came back on as though a finale were playing.

"Oh no!" Evelyn cried out, scurrying across the way to––

_That's probably the chair,_ Cora thought to herself, watching the endearing teen bolt over to a record player and set the needle aside, freezing every single singer on stage as all sound stopped.

_Well,_ _**this** _ _is different._

But she leaned forward anyway, intent on catching every word of Evelyn's. With her mother's enigmatic comment and Isobel's synopsis, she felt as though she were missing a very large part of a puzzle. One that she wanted to solve as soon as she could.

"What was that?"

"It was nothing! A–– erm, a record."

"No, not that. What kind of music was that?"

"It's just music!" Napier's pause was defensive, cringe-worthy. His reluctant guilt gave itself away in seconds, "It was a show." And even more reluctantly, he revealed the genre:"A musical."

Alfred Nugent –– for that was who was talking to him, she could see that now –– only shrugged to himself before asking, "You like musicals?"

"... No."

Somehow, she thought that to be a lie.

So did Alfred, judging from his raised eyebrow. But the bass dismissed the lie, content to carry on, "I love musicals! I go with the wife all the time! It's amazing what they can do nowadays –– have you seen _Miss Saigon_? They landed a helicopter on the stage in that one." Evelyn glanced at the helicopter on this stage, bewildered and bemused. "Yeah, I've seen them all: _Cats, Les Mis, Saturday Night Fever_ –– though I like the movie a little better,"

It became obvious what Evelyn thought of Alfred's character. But if that wasn't clear enough, his terse send-off made it apparent: "Oh, now, really, goodbye!"

After Alfred was firmly sent away from the stage, Cora couldn't help but notice the sound of three locks clicking up against a door. The sound effects apathetically reverberated through the air, confirming her suspicion that a certain someone was afraid of the world _._

She refrained from saying as such, knowing that Violet or her mother would do that all on their own. Instead, she found her gaze intently following Napier as he nervously made his way back in the direction of his armchair –– muttering all sorts of frustrations to the crowd. He looked entirely thrown off by the whole interaction, staring down the record player as though everything was ruined.

" _One_ minute away from the end of the show." His frustration was riveting, even if she still didn't fully understand what was going on. "The mood is broken!"

"I should just start everything from the beginning," The tenor had earnestly proclaimed this, hurrying along to reach his destination. Except, there was something holding him back. A tension lined the teenager, one that could be seen all the way from her seat as he quietly muttered the truth:

"I can't do that again." The dejected words floated around the auditorium, fading into nothing as Evelyn finally turned around. "But it's so frustrating!"

Fidgeting, looking the most forlorn she'd ever seen him, he managed to sink into his chair –– curling in on himself in consternation as he gradually turned to face the audience. He was trying his best to remain composed, but just couldn't. The twitches, the disappointment, it was deeply embedded in all of his movement.

"You have to understand, I––" He can't quite say this next bit, not easily at least. "I love this show _so much_. And,"

The teenager gave a brief, heavy chuckle, "And I've never even seen it. My mother gave me the record," She was hooked in seconds. "This was just before my father left."

If the audience hadn't hushed up before, they were certainly silent now.

"He didn't _leave_ because of the record," Evelyn had to clarify, trying his best to reassure the crowd and prompting some weak laughter in the process. "Though I'm sure that didn't help matters."

He withdrew into himself, that poignant look back in his eyes. He wanted to speak, to explain himself and reveal what was whirling through his mind, but he could only bite his lip and stare off away from them all.

"I know it's not a perfect show." The confession was raw, honest. "The spit-take scene's lame, the monkey motif is lamer," Now she knew she had to see this show in action, if only to better understand his monologue. "But none of that matters."

_So, what does matter?_

"It does what a musical is supposed to do." The teenager grappled with the words, hesitantly letting vulnerability wrap itself around him. "It takes you to another world, it gives you a little tune to carry with you in your head. Something to help you escape the dreary horrors of the real world.

"A little something for whenever you're feeling blue, you know." Evelyn paused again, and she understood that this wasn't an act. This was him, giving away a part of himself. The pain beginning to well in his eyes was all Evelyn Napier. Not a character trying to sell a script.

And as the young man continued to stare off into space, losing his focus on the audience, she couldn't help but notice tears beginning to escape.

But he wasn't the only one crying.

_"As we stumble along,"_ Evelyn softly began. The lyrics were cracked, pained. She'd never seen the young man take on a solo of any kind, having not realized how talented he was. That he now had the chance to do so, that he was now giving himself to this little musical she'd never heard of, spoke measures. " _On life's funny journey."_

_"As we stumble along,"_ There was not a murmur in the audience, all eyes fixed on the despairing singer letting the broken melody fall into the air, " _Into the blue."_

It all sounded like the worst parts of life.

It also sounded like she would be seeing a full-length production of this _Drowsy Chaperone_ as soon as possible, the premise insistently intriguing. Hopefully, this scene and the rest of the show would take a cheerier light and match that synopsis she'd read at the beginning of tonight's showcase.

Cora gave a start at the sound of a ukulele broaching the air, surprised to realize Phyllis Baxter had not only managed to sneak one on stage but could, in fact, play it.

_"We look and we look there,"_ That helpless quality, the one that spoke to her on levels she could not begin to describe, swirled through the auditorium. " _Seeking answers anywhere. Never sure of where to turn or–– or what to do."_

The melody faltered in his voice once again.

But even grief and despair couldn't last forever.

_"I'm accident waiting to happen,"_ Tony Gillingham proudly declared from his spot on stage as Evelyn carried on, oblivious, " _Still, we bumble our way,"_

Napier hadn't been startled by that declaration. No, it was Ebony Leigh stepping toward the center of the stage, posing as though she were on the cover of a vintage magazine that got to him, the soprano boldly declaring, " _I don't want to sing tunes no more,"_

_"Through life's crazy labyrinth"_ Evelyn was gaining his spirit now, disbelieving of all that happened before him. The record had long since stopped playing, the music had officially ended, and yet the characters of the show were starting to engage with him as though he had stepped into their world.

Joseph Moseley took this as a chance to burst to life, stepping forth and happily informing everyone that, " _Wedding bells will ring, wedding bells will chime!"_

"They're doing all the songs from the show." Martha explained to her companions, smirking with delight as Septimus Spratt, Gwen Dawson, and Megan Abbott all loudly declared from their various spots on the stage, _"Toledo Surprise!"_

"Is that what we're calling it?" Really, Violet didn't have to be callous about this. Cora personally loved it.

_"Barely knowing left from right," "Love is always lovely," "Lovely,"_

Now the voices were beginning to blend, all of it coming together in a swirl of nostalgia. Although she had no clue as to the stories behind each lyric, the American found herself swept away in all of it –– even as a blonde scared the daylights out of Evelyn by screaming out "SURPRISE!"

But that shock paled in comparison to remembering that her beloved daughter was in this special little performance. Watching Edith dressed in such fine clothes, Cora could only watch in awe as her daughter began to add her voice into the crowd.

_"And the best,"_ Edith looked to be beaming with the utmost pride at Evelyn, steadily walking toward him with quite the glow in her eyes, her seafoam dress trailing gorgeously behind, a newfound confidence in her step, _"That we can do is hope a bluebird,"_

Evelyn and Edith combined forces, both looking to be so very taken with the moment, finishing the lyric together, _"Will sing his song as we stumble along!"_

The pair tightly hugged one another, beyond delighted as the rest of the choir began to carry along, _"Still we fumble our way through life's crazy labyrinthe,"_

_"Barely knowing left from right,"_ That dark-skinned aviator in the making took the lead, regally standing right beside the crafted helicopter Cora remained stunned by, " _Or right from wrong."_

_"And the best that we can do is hope a bluebird,"_

They were all coming together, every member of the Concert Choir finally joining in on their last song. Those that weren't already positioned on stage were cheerfully walking down the aisles of the auditorium, dressed in costumes from previous songs.

_"Will sing his song_

_As we stumble along."_

The chords beginning to build in volume as well as complexity, it seemed everyone on stage was fervently encouraging Evelyn to follow the young woman playing the role of Trix, a soprano by the name of Laura Foster if Cora remembered right.

_"As we stumble,"_ Evelyn –– or, as listed in the playbook, Man in Chair –– hastily looked about the stage, unsure of himself, " _Bumble,"_

It seemed he realized his chance for an entirely new adventure in life, " _Fumble,"_

And scurrying back across to his chair, " _Tumble!"_ he plucked the record in question, reverently placing it into a beautiful album cover with the words _Drowsy Chaperone_ written across it.

_"As we stumble along!"_

Quickly following Trix as the pair made their way off the stage, it was with incredulity that the reclusive young man proceeded to joyously shout out, "Goodbye, everybody!"

And as the music crescendoed once more, optimism bursting throughout the room, Cora couldn't help but join the people who started to cheer and applaud long before the song had ended.

_._

**9:27 p.m.**

The applause from "As We Stumble Along" was powerful. Enough to cause a dizzying sense of excitement that threatened to knock Matthew Crawley over. He wasn't one for being overwhelmed by life, but tonight had surpassed all expectations.

And now? Now that they were about to start the finale? Now that all five choirs were taking to their customary spots, seas of singers filling the room dressed in their favourite costumes from the show? Now he couldn't help but cheer along with the rest of the audience –– unable and unwilling to stop himself.

This unwillingness to remain dignified only grew as he watched his favourite teachers take to the stage one final time, and he wasn't the only one.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Was it really coming to an end so soon? "It has been a privilege to perform for you this evening."

Matthew realized what was coming next. His solo, his last concert at Downton. He knew it'd be painful to have the opportunities here cut short, but it had been the price for trying to make do at Carlisle first.

He should've been paying attention to his teachers, not wallowing in something he couldn't change. As it was, it seemed their normal speech for finales was being cut short. Something had interrupted them and he'd been too distracted to see what.

**_._**

**9:29 p.m.**

It was entirely an accident. It hadn't been planned in advance, it was entirely the spur of the moment, and he didn't regret a thing.

If she would only agree to the idea.

"You were the one that introduced them to it." Charles gently reminded her with a faint twinkle in his eyes. She merely stared him down, fully aware that they had an audience waiting for them. "It seems only fair that you conduct it tonight."

She continued staring him down, feeling as though she should've known he'd come up with something like this.

He met her gaze, unswerving.

They carried on with this staring contest until someone in the audience politely coughed and reminded them that there were approximately 1,000 people watching.

"We will have a role reversal one of these days." Elsie informed him, fighting back another blush. She didn't care for conceding, but she knew that look in his eyes. It just meant that she'd have to really get him back for this.

"I look forward to it."

"And you will be singing when I start." They were choir teachers after all; they did have the music memorized. "In fact, I'd say _you_ should be the one to start us off tonight."

_Just like "Auld Lang Syne"._

"Are you two gonna bicker all day or are we gonna get this finale started?" Beryl was content to be as blunt as necessary to get this started –– causing both teachers to sharply turn in her direction as some in the audience unwittingly chuckled. The redhead had stayed backstage up until now, having decided that breaking the rules was necessary if it meant the finale could begin.

"It would be my pleasure to start us off." Charles spoke as though they hadn't been interrupted. He even went so far as to retrieve her pitch pipe from his pocket. When she'd gifted him with it only five minutes ago, he initially wanted to refuse: unbidden memories, painful moments came to mind whenever he held one of those instruments.

But it was her and he couldn't associate her with pain.

So he had taken it with the promise of keeping it in good hands.

She'd informed him that she expected nothing else.

"Well then," Charles couldn't hold back a smile, quite aware of how lucky he was she'd agreed and still "Are you ready, _Mrs._ Hughes?"

There's a different emphasis than normal, one that's achingly familiar though she hasn't heard it in over a year. It causes her to shake her laugh, let go of her pride, and let out a soft laugh.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Mr. Carson. Are _you_ ready?"

But she needn't ask. All she needed to do was ground herself once again before lifting her arms. With her right hand tilted in Charles' direction and the left extended straight toward the risers, the message was clear: their director would start the song off and then she'd cue the rest of the choirs into the piece.

He played the pitch, turning back toward the crowd and letting the key sweep through the space one final time. Her left hand arced toward him, gradually rising as the cue started. And they shared one last look before beginning.

_"This is the moment."_ Charles didn't need a microphone, his decades of vocal training only strengthened by the sentiment. _"This is the day."_

_"This is the moment when I know_

_I'm on my way."_

Her left hand smoothly rose, prepared to direct.

_"Every endeavour I have made ever,"_ The Bass Choir combined forces with the young men of the Concert Choir, their voices crossing the distance to surround the audience with a commanding sound. They followed her movements without fail, letting every gesture guide them. Leaping into _forte_ , letting the _accelerando_ carry them, they knew her instruction as well as Mr. Carson's. _"Is coming into play, is here and now today."_

She coaxed them back into _mezzo-forte_ , breathing in an assured serenity, preparing the young men for another wave of dynamics. _"This is the moment, this is the time. When the momentum and the moment are in rhyme."_

_"Give me this moment,_

_This momentous moment._

_I'll gather up my past_

_And make some sense at last!"_

This is what she'd been waiting for. To witness the build-up right before everyone came in, all one-hundred-and-thirty-four voices at the ready.

She'd been prepared to enjoy it all from behind the curtains. But _this,_ standing here alongside him, being at the helm of this beautiful storm, was a damn honour.

_"This is the moment! My final test!  
Destiny beckons, I never reckon second-best."_

The young ladies took hold of the higher range of notes, the young gentlemen grasped the lower range, and it had never sounded so _enthralling._ She wouldn't shiver at the mesmerizing power. Goosebumps wouldn't materialize, not when she was so busy. But to hear all their students come together as one sound was exhilarating beyond belief.

_"This is the day,_

_Just see it shine!_

_When all I've lived for_

_Becomes mine."_

The woman wielded a clear power, her controlled movements guiding them through the notes, the changes in volume and keys. And when it was time, when their voices had blanketed the auditorium with a resounding calm, she beckoned for the two soloists to begin –– smoothly guiding her fiancé off to the side and conceding the main floor of the stage.

_._

**9:32 p.m.**

Thomas had started crying long before Mrs. Hughes gestured for them to begin. He wasn't ashamed to admit and he wouldn't bother to hide it. He'd listened to this on his own countless times after that autumn day. To be here now, to have a chance to perform it and even have one last solo before graduating, it was indescribable.

Matthew began, calmly stepping to the center of the stage, captivating as always.

_"This is the moment,"_ The tenor took charge of the notes beautifully, his voice a delight, " _This is the hour."_

It was almost time.

_"When I can open up tomorrow,"_ His feet were guiding him to where Matthew stood, pushing him forward when he couldn't fathom the idea of taking another step. " _Like a flower."_

Racing was a quaint description for what his heart was doing. His lungs were not at their most relaxed, his veins were burning with adrenaline, and he loved every second of it.

_"And put my hand to,"_ It was working. The sound was pouring out, his voice wasn't cracking from the emotion, and Thomas even had a little control over the quality. " _Everything that I plan to,"_

_"Fulfill my grand design,"_ The two voices may have complemented one another, but tenacity could only be cultivated when everyone else came back in at last, " _See all my stars align..."_

_._

**9:33 p.m.**

_"This is the moment!_

_Damn all the odds!"_

Charles Carson had thought he'd been thrilled to have been proven wrong last year. He thought he knew what it meant to be in awe, to have his opinion changed for the better.

He'd never been so happy to be proven wrong yet again.

_"This day or never,_

_I sit forever with the gods!"_

His eyes couldn't stop following Elsie's conductions. He couldn't hold back the truth: he was bursting with pride that she was completely focused on their students –– that they truly are their students. Not his, not hers. Theirs.

_"When I look back,_

_I will recall,"_

He was eternally grateful for his rule about never interrupting a song. Because it meant that, on a September day nearly two years ago, he'd been given a wonderful chance to recognize what music could truly be.

_"Moment for moment,_

_This was the moment!"_

He was even more grateful to be hearing all of their voices rise here and now, the sound curving through those higher notes and climbing toward _fortissimo_ once more.

_"The greatest moment_

_Of them all!"_

Closing his eyes, letting the glorious chords and inspiring words wash over him, Charles basked in the enriching beauty as it surrounded him for the last time.

_"The greatest moment,_

_Moment of them all."_

_**_._** _

**9:35 p.m.**

Violet Crawley had once asked Elsie Hughes what made _a cappella_ so special. In particular, she had little understanding as to why the genre of barbershop appealed to the woman.

The woman had informed her that, when the vowels and the pitches and the energy lined up just so, there were these stunning notes called overtones that could be heard. That, when a group really knew what they were doing, four notes could be sung and five notes could be heard.

The administrator hadn't taken the explanation seriously, having heard _a cappella_ on numerous occasions. She would have known of these overtones long before this conversation; therefore, the idea had to be improbable at best and drivel at worst.

Violet Crawley finally heard an overtone today.

Heard it and found herself abandoning her normal reserve in favour of being one of the first to stand –– boldly clapping for this triumph, this accomplishment that had seemed laughable when first discussed. She wouldn't lose her head by cheering, raucously jumping up and down where she stood. Isobel was doing enough of that on her own, she didn't need to kindle that dismaying fire.

But she would firmly support the accomplishment before her.

Something she had never expected.

_**_._** _

**9:57 p.m.**

Eventually, the feelings of success ebbed away. The adoration of the audience was kind, but it repeatedly struck Elsie that Alice Neal never showed up. And as much as she didn't care for the woman, she didn't know what else to assume, other than that something terrible had happened.

"I mean, even her coat remains untouched. I really think something happened to her," She confessed to Beryl, the band director definitely over the conversation. "But Abigail checked upstairs and the dressing rooms during the show, so where could she be?"

Phyllis Baxter knew the answer to that. Not only that, she really didn't want to get anyone in trouble –– considering it was her idea.

But before she could volunteer, "I've an idea on where she is."

"Do you now?"

The alto watched in shock as Charlie Grigg opened his mouth again, desperately beating him to the punch, "I can help search for her, wherever she might be!"

She bit back the flustering feeling she got as Mrs. Hughes looked her over, the woman confused. "Are you sure you want to help? Wouldn't you rather see your family?"

"I've already seen them. Besides, it would only take a few minutes to check, Mrs. Hughes."

"... All right. If you're sure."

"I am, too!"

Elsie should have known Joseph Moseley wouldn't leave his girlfriend alone with Grigg. Personally, though she knew nothing would happen, she understood.

"I'd really rather," But more swarms of families were closing in, their cheery congratulations and rambunctious delight pulling her away from the unorthodox trio before she could say another word.

"We'll be right back, Mrs. Hughes, promise!"

_._

**9:59 p.m.**

The trio had made their way up to the second fourth floor in relative silence. Mr. Grigg was determined to do whatever was on his mind, Phyllis was focused on making sure no one got in trouble, and Joseph was just tagging along.

And when they had finally made it to the choir rooms, they knew Alice was still inside. She seemed fine, if not a little hoarse and rather irritated with the situation –– judging by the occasional shrieks and complaints. Honestly, Phyllis was thankful there was an adult nearby. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like crossing paths with the woman on her own.

_What now?_ They were a short distance away from the door, but they'd all stopped in their tracks. Joseph looked as flummoxed as she felt whilst Mr. Grigg seemed to be thinking something over.

"Might as well get it over with, eh?" Was this really one of Miss Neal's colleagues? Where was the camaraderie between teachers, the trust and respect? "I'll be just a moment."

The two students dumbly nodded at the teacher's unspoken instruction to remain still, waiting outside in silence as he opened the door to 403 and stepped inside. The _crescendoing_ commands from inside 403's closet shifted –– a renewed vigor adding to the muffled sound as he entered. They couldn't make out the words, but the students could hazard a guess: Miss Neal was _not_ pleased to have been left behind for so long.

And then it stopped.

Nothing.

Mr. Grigg calmly opened the door, revealing nothing in his demeanour. "Miss Neal has agreed to wait until we've broken down the set before telling the others."

_Huh?_ "Are you sure?" "What?"

He merely looked at them for a solid moment before speaking again, "She has also agreed that we don't need to tell Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes the whole story."

Once again. She had no idea what was going on.

But he couldn't have done anything to the teacher. The most that had to have happened was an exchange of words.

_Right._ She wouldn't question what was going on. She would simply follow his instructions and talk about it with the others when they all met up again –– Abigail had mentioned something about wanting to hang out in a week or so.

_._

**10:34 p.m.**

Somehow it'd all worked out. They had finally escaped the well-wishing crowds and the families, including their own. Beryl had personally volunteered to take care of breaking down the stage, coaxing the other teachers to help. They hadn't even had to change out of their _Music Man_ costumes, Joyce and Dickie saying that they could return their clothes whenever they wished.

And Alice? Elsie would have to wheedle the whole story out some day, but it turned out there was nothing to worry about when it came to her. They didn't even have to interact with the woman tonight, the ending to that chapter seeming much too anticlimactic to be true.

But it was true. All of it.

And Elsie was much too exhausted to even begin to question why it'd all worked out so easily.

"Somehow," She eventually confessed, winded by it all and grateful for this respite, "We did it."

"That we did." Charles echoed, as weary if not more so. The adrenaline that came with pulling off this kind of showcase was frankly astonishing. "Let's not do another one of these for at least a year."

"My, my." He only stared at her, eyebrows furrowing with disdain at the teasing words. "I hadn't expected to _ever_ do one of these again."

"I knew I shouldn't have said that!"

But their laughter was already escaping, the pair well aware it was just a joke.

"I think it went well enough." She offers this along with her hand. And when he grasps it, he does her one better by taking her into his arms and spinning her around the pavement, listening to her peals of joy.

Inevitably, she had to bring him in for a kiss that came with a cheeky reminder: ""And the stage didn't flood!"

Mirth twinkled away in her eyes as he pouted at the lack of kissing now occurring. But, cheekiness aside, she was proud: he hadn't had those nightmares in a year and that had to mean something.

"And the stage didn't flood." He warmly echoed, delighted to have her in his arms once again. Dressed like this, he felt as though they were living in another world. One where they didn't have duties to perform or roles to play. Just a night to enjoy together.

No one knew who started this kiss. Only that it delved further than the others of the day, dipping through the flickering lamplight, melting into great relief and satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for being an amazing part of these last few years. I really, really hope you enjoyed today's update.
> 
> As for the " **unsung" songs:**
> 
> "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" / _Fiddler on the Roof_ / "Matchmaker ~ Fiddler on the Roof"
> 
> "My Favorite Things" / _Sound of Music_ / "My Favorite Things PaloVerdeChoir"
> 
> "You Don't Know This Man" / _Parade_ / "Annie Keller, soprano - You Don't Know This Man (Parade) - Jason Robert Brown"
> 
> "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" / _Wizard of Oz_ / "Huron Bel Canto Choir - Somewhere Over the Rainbow"
> 
> "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better" / _Annie Get Your Gun_ / "Anything You Can Do (Two Barbershop Quartets) (Live)"
> 
> All that's left now? In the words of _Drowsy_ , " _Wedding bells will ring! Wedding bells will chime!"_
> 
> See you Friday!


	20. Hearts Stolen Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of one of my other favorite OTPs, it's about time! Would you believe that we're going to be scattering references from all four stories throughout this last chapter as well as references to the show?
> 
> There also may or may not be a song sung today (I know, it's a mega plot-twist ;) ). If such a thing were occurring, I'd say to look up "Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron.AVI" and look for VA Tech Chamber Singers' version.
> 
> Now, because I've found weddings tend to be a blur when it comes to timing, there'll be no time-stamps today. At least, not after the first one.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** "Damn it, Jim! I'm a singer, not a wedding planner!" (this is, of course, what Bones always said. None of that doctor stuff!).

**Saturday, the 20th of June, 2020**

**11:02 p.m.**

Charles Carson had been known to say no to Elsie Hughes on occasion.

This was not one of those occasions.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Beryl's watching _Bake-Off_ reruns?" It was astonishing he sounded so calm, what with his hands clamped over his eyes, his posture more rigid than a first-time auditioner. He could only pray she was doing the same –– the eyes shut part, that is, not the ridiculously nervous posture bit.

Charles wasn't one to normally go for superstitious rot, but what if this was the one occasion where it mattered? What if seeing each other now meant misfortune in the future? Or what if something horrible happened tomorrow –– like Alice barging in and protesting their marriage at the last second?

"I know," He could hear her hesitation, the tinges of something else buried deep in that lilt. "I just had to–– to know that tomorrow's real."

Right. He couldn't send her away now. Not when he could hear her berating herself for something that wasn't foolish in the slightest.

"Of course it's real." Keeping one hand over his eyes, he proceeded to stretch the other out in an attempt to not bang into any of the furniture as he fumbled his way over to her.

Seeing as how he'd still bumped into the sofa, it hadn't been his best attempt.

Her light peals steadied him as the man rubbed his ankle, managing to keep his eyes shut as he recovered from the incident. It'd also given him the chance to hone in on where she stood, telling him exactly how far he had to go and which furniture he still needed to avoid.

"I suppose you're right," Well, now! She had to be in better spirits if she was three seconds away from teasing him, "You've never done that in any dream of mine."

"Oh? And what have I done?" Because he could play that game. He could adjust the key of the conversation, make it so that their cheeky exchange held overtones of a mischievous nature. And if change stilled her enough, flustered her enough, that he could gracefully approach his future wife, then all the better.

"I suppose," Elsie began again, much less flippantly this time, "I'll have to show you. Tomorrow night, mind."

They may have been sharing a bed for almost a year, but there were certain traditions her fiancé had maintained. Something she hadn't minded, but something that led to terribly risqué dreams in the process.

And if they weren't careful–– right. She had to stop those thoughts right where they stood. She knew that if they continued to part with tradition tonight of all nights, her man would only become even more distressed than he already was.

"I look forward to it." There was a husky quality to these words. One that almost coaxed her into opening her eyes, if only to memorize everything she could, to understand exactly what he meant. Without a demeanour to watch, this all felt like her first attempts at sight-reading.

Except, sight-reading had never had her blushing.

Nor did it fill her with desire.

Oh, she couldn't walk away now. Not without something. She would take hand-holding if she had to –– she could only assume how scandalized he'd be if they did anything else –– but she needed something. Something to reassure her that this was happening, that this wasn't a dream, that it was indeed possible and true. Elsie normally wasn't one to indulge in such foolish concerns, priding herself on her pragmatic nature.

This wedding of theirs was chucking all of that off to the side.

"Charles," She reached out a hand, knowing the movement was loud enough to be heard. "Do you not suppose––"

A soft moan escaped her as his lips brushed up against hers, her future husband intent on far more than mere hand-holding. She felt a hand drift from his face and cup her cheek, a familiar lack of distance enveloping them both as every enriching sensation deepened.

"There now," His murmur caressed her more tenderly than that kiss, "That's nice, isn't it?"

It was the same thing she said that night in that Green Room. When the storm had stopped them from leaving the school, when they'd taken to the sofa and when they realized just where it was they wanted to go.

How he could recall that entire conversation when he couldn't even remember yesterday astounded him. Perhaps, it didn't really. Days came and went whenever they liked. Conversations like those were a permanent, _wonderful_ fixture in his mind.

And the best part was that Charles knew that referencing the memory was enough. He didn't have to ask to confirm she understood this was real. He didn't need to wonder if she felt reassured. The man could feel the tension dissipate from her shoulders as they delved further and further into intimacy.

There was no need to worry about seeing each other, not now.

_._

Beryl had been unimpressed to learn from Becky that Elsie had snuck out to see Charles one last time. The hopeful romantic in her thought the gesture sweet. But the best friend who didn't want to see even a hint of bad luck befall the couple was against the idea.

The reassurance that Elsie had kept her eyes closed the entire time didn't mean much to the band director. But, instead of getting on her best friend's case for risking bad luck and lecturing her all night, Beryl merely accepted that it had happened and there was nothing to be done.

That, and make sure to wake her dear best friend as early in the morning as possible.

It seemed only fair, after all.

_._

Albert Mason had had the occasional dealings with Charles Carson when the latter was in a state of nerves. Long before Mrs. Hughes had arrived at Downton, the farmer had gone to choir shows to support William. Not only that, he'd volunteered to help Downton with their competitions, making sure all students were accounted for and the likes. He'd even had the occasional conference with the choir director –– though, really, that'd been an excuse to drop by and hear all about how brilliant his son was.

Concerts, competitions, conferences. Those all brought a level of distress with them, it was undeniably true.

_None_ of that compared to Charles Carson on his wedding day.

" _Why_ do any of these have _ferns_ attached?"

It was going to be a long day, and _that_ was a fact.

_._

Margaret Ruth Hughes had known there would be no one else like Joe Burns. She knew there'd be no one who would make her daughter feel that way again.

And she was right:

Charles Carson was nothing like Elsie's first husband.

Where Joe was mellow, Charles gripped perfectionist tendencies. The former never cared for the limelight. As for the latter? Maintaining the limelight was his profession. The stage was his farm, the spotlight his version of the sun. Successful years meant reaping in trophies and medals from the county. And it was his charges, not crops, that grew throughout the process.

To say the two men were different was to say it rained from time to time back home.

And yet.

And yet, from the second she'd been introduced to the man, she knew he would be all right. Five minutes in, she knew he was more than just _all right_. Her daughter had radiated delight the entire night, sending her fiancé a certain look whenever she could. It held affection, the curve of her grin and the glow in her eye –– a look Maggie never thought she'd really see again –– more tender and carefree than it'd been in years.

Seeing as Elsie tended to be cautious, sometimes to a painful fault, that candid affection spoke measures.

And it was that affection that waltzed right back into sight as her daughter was helped into that stunning wedding dress of hers. It was simple, much different than that first gown all those years ago, and Elsie looked just as breathtaking.

When they were left alone in the room for a few minutes, precious minutes Maggie would treasure for as long as she could, the woman couldn't hold back the tears.

Neither could her daughter, for that matter.

"Your father would be so _proud_ of you today." She was, too. And she always would be, that would never change.

The hug only tightened, understanding.

_._

"So, you _were_ right about the hat thing, Clar!"

Violet Crawley bristled at the American accent emanating from the row behind her as the speaker approached. Clearly, whoever dared to cast out such a remark had to be an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes and _not_ Mr. Carson.

"I told you –– both Charles and Elsie reminded me repeatedly to make sure we all wear hats. Apparently, it's a thing over here."

" _Charles" and "Elsie"?_ Bristling was now too modest a description for her movements. A gaggle of Americans were casually invading this charming ceremony. Not only that, they had the nerve to sit only a short distance away!

"So's not wearing green," It was a muttered complaint, "Black, I understand. White, of course not. But _green_?"

"You can go be a Slytherin later, Elena."

"Fellow Americans, eh?" Violet scowled at the sound of Martha Levinson deciding to interject. All four heads swiveled in the elderly woman's direction –– doubtlessly stunned that there'd be another one of them in the crowd. "Californians, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Those three are, but, actually, I'm from Chicago!"

"I'm sure you are."

Now _that_ , not that she would ever admit it, was amusing. Mildly amusing, of course, but amusing, nevertheless.

"So, what's this about a 'Wedding Breakfast'?" The redhead chimed in, playfully smirking in the direction of her brunette friend as she changed the subject. "And did we miss it?"

"Elena Dee Muldrew, if your goal is to only eat a chocolate chip pancake, I swear to––"

" _Not_ in church, Clar!"

"Oh, that?" Martha dismissed it outright, something Violet didn't take lightly. "Just a phrase."

"Seriously?"

"We told you to eat earlier!"

_Oh, where is Isobel?_ At least her remarks could occasionally be considered witty.

Speaking of her friend, Violet saw her fellow administrator begin to enter the church at last. Fortunately, there was no need to gesture in order to obtain Isobel's attention.

Unfortunately, _they_ were the reason why.

"Isobel, is that you?"

"Clar! Elena! Joylin! Liam! Oh, it's _so_ wonderful you could make it!"

_Oh, goody._

_._

This was Archie Phillpotts' first wedding ever and he had the biggest mission of his life today. Two of his biggest missions ever! He was to guide Mrs. Mrs. Hughes to her spot in the church while Mrs. Hughes waited outside. _And_ he also had to make sure Mr. Mason didn't lose those rings! Aunt Beryl had warned him particularly about that last one, but it was a little odd because she was smiling at Mr. Mason while she did that. Didn't feel like much of a warning, if he was being honest.

Anyway, Mrs. Hughes was still nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Mrs. Hughes was here, waiting for him to guide her to the appropriate pew. There was even that weird sounding music, the type he'd only heard at church. It was though Mrs. Mrs. Hughes was the bride!

But she wasn't! Or, was she?

Archie thought he knew everything about weddings but he would have to ask Aunt Beryl about it because this was his first wedding ever. And even though he'd been given strict instructions and knew what to do, he really didn't know what was going on. He only knew he was leading Mrs. Mrs. Hughes to her seat. And then, what felt like an age later, someone else was going through the fancy entrance.

He didn't recognize her, but the boy knew one thing:

"She's _really_ pretty!"

Mrs. Mrs. Hughes gave him a big smile, whispering to him in that cool accent of hers: "That she is."

_._

The training that went into being an adept musician meant that Charles Carson had to have inordinately keen ears. He needed to catch the whiffs of a flat chord before it destroyed the harmony. Had to unearth the sopranos that tended to go sharp. Couldn't lose sight of the baritones that lost their precision. Needed to stop the tenors who were getting stuck in the clouds of high notes. Had to keep the basses from dropping the fifths scattered throughout the music. And it was most certainly his responsibility to ensure the altos were steadily trooping through.

And that training didn't stop there. It meant that even when he was out in public, as far away from the choir rooms as he could possibly be, the world's movements could be heard. The bells of shops clanging against syncopated conversation. Church bells in the distance, marking the tempo of the hours. The dissonance of horns clashing against the metronomes of the streets, he witnessed it all.

And now?

Now, he could only hear her.

The processional music had lulled the wedding guests into silence, but it had long since faded for him. There was only the rustling of her dress gently brushing up against the floor. Her heels softly following a steady time his heart couldn't match.

There were scattered gasps at her arrival –– a few whispers that were too American not to coax a faint smile. And he could surmise the heat that came from everyone's gaze as they followed the enchanting sight he couldn't wait to see.

Nevertheless, there was only one gaze he felt.

And only one person he heard.

_._

Lace trickled across church stone, the delicate bouquet resting in her hands. She could feel everyone's attention shift to her as she followed the music set before her, the sun's reassurances slipping through stained glass, reminding her –– much like his kisses –– that this was real.

She only had eyes for him.

Maintaining the tempo of the processional was nothing, her steps matching the rhythm as though they conducted the music. Her heartbeat, on the other hand, had raced up to the altar, waiting for the rest of her to catch up.

When she had finally made it, finally joined his side, she made sure to cherish every moment of the ceremony. There were differences, subtle ones that only served to remind her that this was not the same. But she already knew that. The love she felt for Charlie was doubtlessly nothing like what she felt for Joe.

However, it was love, plain and simple.

"For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. To love, cherish, and to obey 'till death do us part..." She'd rehearsed this vow in the darker moments of the term. Had held onto the vow for all she could, whether the times were good or bad.

To finally give them today felt like a miracle.

_._

"Did you enjoy that, Archie?" Beryl had spotted her nephew at once, pleased to witness him be an absolute gentleman throughout the entire ceremony. Mrs. Hughes, Elsie's mum that is, had looked enchanted by his company as he walked her down the aisle.

"I did, Aunt Beryl, honest!" She grinned, even more pleased. Archie, much like Charles Carson, was a hopeless liar. Which meant he really did. "Only, I was wondering,"

"Yes, Archie?"

"Why're their names Mr. and Mrs. _Carson_? Why aren't they Mr. and Mrs. Hughes?"

Oh, she'd have to try that explanation again. See if it really stuck this time. Not that she would mind all that much, either way. He already knew his homemade cake topper had been put to good use. Elsie and Charles went the traditional route with the fruitcake, but there was an apple crumble tucked away in their freezer with a certain "MR. AND MRS. HUGHES" cake-topper delicately resting on top.

_._

Linda Vance had always found Downton Abbey to be an incredible sight. But today it seemed _magical_. The grounds were beautifully maintained, the marquees arranged to create a sense of splendour. It felt as though the whole place had been transformed, whisked back to an earlier era for all to enjoy.

"It's like _Back to the Future_ or something!" Linda turned around to find a quartet of strangers nearby. Americans, if she had to take a guess. "The third one, that is. 1955 looked nothing like this. Except, if they'd gone back, it would've to the Victorian era instead of the Old West! And I bet 1885 in England would've been _much_ different!"

"Are you sure we had to bring her along?" The redhead conspiratorially whispered to the other woman in the group, possibly an Asian American.

"I heard that!"

"Just don't use this as an excuse to buy a DeLorean." The tallest of the bunch, the only man amongst the friends, cheekily reminded the flummoxed brunette. She only dipped her head sheepishly, blushing in response and confirming that the thought had crossed her mind.

"And before you say anything else," The redhead quickly stopped the brunette from sending off an embarrassed retort, "We're _not_ making a cut-out of a DeLorean for the next show."

"But, Elena––"

The conversation bounced around faster than Linda could understand it, the teaching assistant confused to say the least. She'd seen _Back to the Future_ maybe once, so she understood the thing about the DeLorean. Vaguely. The thing was, she didn't know what they were talking about when they mentioned shows. Maybe they were fellow musicians that had befriended the choir teachers? But, _Americans_? When would such a meeting have occurred?

And, really, would Mr. Carson have had the inclination to befriend such a quirky bunch?

"Guys," The shortest of the group, the dark-haired woman, was shooting them all a look of exasperated amusement, "I don't suppose you'd actually like to attend the reception?"

"Oh, yeah! That's totally a thing." "I thought the nine-hour flight was all that mattered." "We were gonna get there, eventually. Um, how do we go about doing that?"

"There's a receiving line," Linda automatically answered. Apparently being a teaching assistant for a term had rubbed off on her. "Up ahead, don't you see it?"

"'The receiving line'?" The Asian American looked to be contemplating something, "Is that a British custom?"

"You could say that." A tradition that was beginning to fade with time, but one that Mrs. Hug–– Mrs. _Carson_ and Mr. Carson held onto. That name change would take a lot of getting used, but she would muddle through somehow. The only consolation was that the pair had decided to stick to being called Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson in school, to keep it consistent.

Still, it wasn't as though she would be their teaching assistant anymore now that the term was over. Something she was still coming to terms with, if she were being honest. Which meant it was vital to enjoy today as much as she possibly could.

"Fair enough. And what exactly _is_ a receiving line in this case?"

Without another word, Linda found herself breaking the concept down. This was in addition to explaining her association with the Carsons. Eventually, seeing as how it was only fair, she coaxed their own life stories out. She then found out the quartet had crossed paths with Downton last summer in Chicago and remained friends ever since.

Linda still didn't quite understand how the friendship worked.

But she'd long since learned not to question it.

Just like she learned not to question why Americans had this tendency to bluntly ask away any question they liked.

"So, do you know where they'll be going for their honeymoon?"

"Clar, it's probably rude to ask them that over here––"

Not wanting another train wreck of a conversation, "They'll actually be going down south, tour some of the coast!"

"Aww, how sweet! Anywhere in particular?"

"Brighton, if I'm not mistaken." Linda wracked her brain for more locations, remembering Mrs. Patmore proclaim them all on more than one occasion. The band director hadn't been pleased that her friends had decided to stay in England. But she let go of her frustration when they informed her they would be gone for at least a week, promising to see more than one beach. "Eastbourne, I believe. I think a place called West Wittering as well, erm,"

"It sounds wonderful." Joylin interjected with a small smile, "Sounds like a perfect way to just _roll_ with it. _Wave_ goodbye to the past and let the future _crest_ in, maybe."

Linda couldn't help her snort, biting back a smile of her own as the other three groaned at the play on words. She would like to see Joylin go up against Violet Crawley, if only because the puns would drive the administrator to distraction, of that she had no doubt.

"Master punster, this one." "We're _so_ proud." "Oh, it looks like we'll have to quit it with the word-play: I do believe it's almost our turn to be received! That is the right phrase, right, Linda?"

The former teaching assistant weakly nodded, unsure as to whether that was correct. She didn't know when exactly she'd become the unofficial tour guide for the group. And she couldn't help but wonder whether or not this would remain the case for the rest of the reception.

"It really is quite impressive that you managed being a teaching assistant, Linda. I did a stint once in Toledo and…"

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

Different, at the very least.

_._

When the emcee had called everyone's attention back to her friends, warmly announcing the start of the Bridal Waltz, Beryl couldn't hold back a little squeal. Seeing them rehearse in the auditorium was nothing like watching them today. The familiar introduction of the classic score began to cascade through the air as her two friends joined together once more, blissfully aware of only each other just like that other day.

"Mrs. Patmore," She turned to Claire Morris, having forgotten many of the choir students had volunteered to sing at the reception. "Isn't that the _Blaueo_ –– the _Bleua_ ––"

She took pity on the girl in a heartbeat, "Just call it 'The Blue Danube'. Everyone else does."

The young singer nodded, unable to keep from sighing in fondness as her teachers began to dance. Their steps were well-rehearsed yet light, softly gliding through the movements. It was a charming scene to behold, one she was pleased to know the meaning of.

Oh, yes. Beryl knew the symbolism behind the score, having the privilege of learning why her sentimental fools –– this was a term spoken with great fondness, mind –– chose the piece. It was all thanks to that Winter Ball, the one where they were stumbling over their words and couldn't keep from staring at each other.

Aka, the evening that told her a day like today was possible.

And, just as she suspected, she'd been right all those months.

Really, things would be so much easier if people understood she was usually spot on. For instance, it might've taken her friends only a few weeks instead of _ages_ to get together!

_._

"And now," The emcee for the evening gestured to the rapidly forming group of students. The very ones who'd waited quite some time for this, excitedly quieting down. "The choirs of Downton Academy would like to perform a song for the newlyweds."

Mary Crawley would be the one to officially introduce the song, having volunteered weeks ago. And seeing as how Elsie had chosen the song in question all those years ago, the Scot felt it was only fair to let Charles call the shots as to who announced it today.

His inevitable selection had surprised no one.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mary commanded everyone's attention gracefully, as always. "Today, the choirs of Downton Academy will be singing 'Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron' by John Rutter."

Elsie didn't catch the rest of the introduction, distracted by the reactions from the crowd. The approving applause, the occasional coo, and an amusing, "Okay. This sounds cute, if not possibly violent." stole her concentration.

But it was that last comment that had her especially distracted. The woman was unable to keep from chuckling even as Thomas Barrow bringing a pitch pipe to his lips, a smile on his face. Had she been focused, the choir teacher might've seen a hint of something in that smile, something that would have clued her into what was next.

As it was, she was enjoying herself far too much to pay much attention, closing her eyes in contentment as the appropriate key was hummed away. She could hear the individual breaths gathered, the anticipation weaving itself into the silence, and the decision to perform finally being made only once everyone was ready.

_"'Twas on a Monday morning,_

_And there he saw his darling,"_

"'And there _he_ saw _his_ darling'?" Elsie quietly repeated, knowing how the original song went. Her husband –– a phrase she would utter for as long as she could –– looked over in puzzlement as she curiously began to ask, "Did you have a hand in this, Charlie?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," He arched an eyebrow in a fashion so reminiscent of herself she had to bite back a snort. "Weren't you mentioning we were going to have a 'role reversal' one of these days? And, after the concert, didn't you say something about you being the one to surprise _me_ at some point?"

"This is certainly _not_ what I meant!"

"Oh, I'm sure." The man neutrally commented, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

_"She looked so neat and charming,_

_In every high degree."_

Elsie faintly rolled her eyes at the cheek, shaking her head. She'd nothing to do with the plan, whatever was going on. But judging by the fact that Linda Vance was steadfastly avoiding their gaze, it looked like their former teaching assistant may have been plotting something without their knowledge.

It would explain why she'd volunteered to take over the rehearsals for this. The young woman said she'd wanted to contribute to her time at Downton, saying that it would be a privilege to help.

Elsie should have known she was going to plan a surprise like this.

_"She looked so neat and nimble-o_

_A-warming up her vocals-o,"_

Well, those were definitely _not_ the correct words –– though the newlyweds were too taken with the surprise to care. They only wanted to keep on listening, to garner what other changes Linda and their students had made to the classic tune.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,"_ The audience was now fully aware there was something going on, many people turning in the direction of the singing scattered about the gardens. Not everyone knew the piece by heart, but they knew it well enough to reach the same conclusion the teachers did.

Except, "Why do you suppose it wasn't 'sheet music'?"

Her husband paused, not having questioned the change. In seconds, she could see his lips silently going over the phrase, alternating between the two choices. Eventually, he came to some sort of internal agreement: "I think it sounds better."

She personally hadn't a clue, "Fair enough."

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_She stole Bel Canto away!"_

"That you certainly did!" Charles softly confessed, sharing a delighted kiss with the woman he was incredibly proud to now call his wife. He remembered it well, initially finding the loyalty of the young ladies to be endearing misplaced. Needless to say, he would be the first to deem himself a fool for thinking that.

Luckily, he would have _many_ years in which to make such foolishness up.

_"'Twas on a Tuesday morning," "'Twas on a Tuesday morning,"_

_"And there she saw her darling," "And there she saw her darling,"_

"'And there _she_ saw _her_ darling," Charles purposefully echoed, going so far as to lean forward in his chair and hand over more of his attention to the singers. It seemed the man was inordinately curious as to where his students would take this, now that he was the "darling" in question.

" _He looked so neat,_

_In every high degree."_

"That he always did," Elsie cheekily noted, mimicking her husband's sentiment from before, squeezing his hand as they carried on listening.

_"He looked so neat and nimble-o_

_Conducting out his movements-o,"_

Anna Smith watched her teachers from her spot in the crowd, her eyes delightedly twinkling away as she sang. She remembered how Mr. Carson's conducting style changed over the last two years. It had always been a grand manner of conduction, but it had slowly eased into something else. Grandness mixed with kindness, shifting his movements into a more considerate nature. He was still their curmudgeon of a choir direction, but he directed them with more thought than he had before –– something she loved seeing evolve over time.

_"Dashing away with the," "Dashing away with the,"_

_"Dashing away with the," "Dashing away with the!"_

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_He stole her thoughts away!"_

"They certainly got that right." And as she leaned into him, the feel of him accompanying this special arrangement, Elsie found herself enjoying this version far more than the original.

_"'Twas on a Wednesday morning," "'Twas on,"_

_"And there he saw his darling." "Wednesday morning,"_

_"She looked so neat and charming," "She looked so charming,"_

_"In every high degree."_

Cora had been informed of this little surprise in the making, Miss Vance wanting to be sure not overstep any bounds. The American had given her approval at once, proud of them for doing so well and pleased with herself for not giving the secret away over the previous weeks.

She felt this was the least she could do for it, after everything.

For when Mrs. Patmore had approached them, offering Mrs. Hughes as a temporary replacement for Mrs. Butte, she'd been a little hesitant to jump on board with the idea. And then she'd personally met the woman and the rest was, as people tended to say, history.

_"She looked so neat and nimble-o," "She looked so nimble,"_

_A-marking up her theories-o,"_

"Well, I'm glad they noticed that," Maggie Hughes took pleasure in listening to her daughter's commentary, "Mind, they do know their theories fairly well."

"I'd say they know their lyrics even better." Elsie was not the only one sending off a look at the man, though Maggie believed hers to be a wee bit more tickled.

"Now you're just being a sentimental, daft man!"

"Ah, but I do believe I'm _your_ sentimental, daft man. And if I'm not mistaken, that makes all––" The mother didn't dare to hold back a grin at the exchange, not this time.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets," "Dashing away!"_

_"Dashing away with the music sheets" "Dashing away!"_

_"Dashing away with the sheets,_

_She stole Treble away!"_

"Of course, did that really take much effort?" Laughter bubbled within her as his whisper tickled her heart. The Treble Choir had been one of the first to enjoy her presence, not fighting her authority nearly as much as the Concert Choir threatened to.

_"'Twas on a Thursday morning,_

_And there she saw her darling,_

_He looked so neat and charming_

_In every high degree."_

Edith Crawley thoroughly enjoyed bouncing back and forth on the perspective of this song. Everyone had had a hand in crafting the little jokes and references, Miss Vance wanting to be sure to include as many students as she possibly could –– something the Crawley daughter loved just as much as the song.

_"He looked so neat and nimble-o,_

_Protesting_ a cappella, _though,"_

Beryl Patmore unashamedly roared with laughter from her seat, clapping at the clever lyrics. Everyone else was experiencing understandable titters and snorts, mirth clutching all within earshot.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_He stole her patience away!"_

Elsie outright guffawed at this while Charles looked to be blushing, the man managing a good-natured chuckle at the sound. For all those who had been a part of the beginning of the _a cappella_ movement on campus, remembering the terse atmosphere that had ascended the second fourth floor throughout that start, nothing more had to be said.

_"'Twas on a Friday morning,_

_And there he saw his darling,_

_She looked so neat and charming,_

_In every high degree."_

Clar was past the point of holding back tears, relieved that Liam had been brazen enough to garner the now wedded couple's attention that last summer. If he hadn't, they definitely wouldn't be here today and she wouldn't need to use the table cloth as a pseudo-tissue, blushing for the millionth time when Joylin handed her an actual one.

_"She looked so neat and nimble-o_

_A-talking to the admins-o,_

Isobel snorted at this, pleased that the story of this enchanting couple was being properly conveyed. Her only question was how this information was obtained. Nevertheless, she could set that curiosity aside. Especially once she saw an inordinately faint trace of fondness in her friend's stern gaze.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_She got_ a cappella _to stay!"_

"It wasn't as though I'd've _never_ allowed _a cappella_ music to be sung at Downton!" Charles faintly protested over the cheers and applause that escaped the enraptured listeners.

Elsie didn't bother to dignify that with a comment.

_"'Twas on a Saturday morning," "And there she saw her darling,"_

_"He looked so neat and charming_

_In every high degree!"_

Long before William Mason's teachers had officially become involved with each other, the young man saw the foreshadowing signs. He remembered overhearing the occasional conversation, watching them act less like colleagues and more like something else. And now that he was singing away at their wedding, he couldn't help but feel happy for them. Because he greatly respected both teachers. More than that, he was really, _really_ happy they found each other.

_"He looked so neat and nimble-o_

_Applauding for her students-o,"_

In lieu of an applause for the memory, Charles settled for quietly holding out his hand. It wasn't the first time that day, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Not today, not tomorrow, not for as long as he could help it.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets," "Music sheets," "Music sheets,"_

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,_

_She stole his praise away!"_

Now it was her turn to blush, the woman quite caught with how the song was turning out. With all the lyrics planned out so sweetly, she could only assume there was a final surprise waiting for them at the end.

Suffice it to say, she was right.

_"'Twas on a Sunday morning,_

_And there they saw their darlings,"_

"'Their darlings'?"

"Oh, you know it's true, Charlie."

_"Their choirs looked so charming,_

_In every high degree!_

_"They looked so neat and nimble-o,"_ With a practiced _ritardando_ that spoke of the months spent rehearsing, the choirs gently turned away from the main audience. They focused solely on singing to their two teachers, happiness shining away in their eyes as their voices were flooded with gratitude, _"A-working with their choirs-o,"_

Elsie couldn't hold back the tears and Charles had long since given up trying,

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,"_ The ladies took hold of the melody once again, grinning away.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,"_ The gentlemen dutifully echoed, equally as pleased.

_"Dashing away with the music sheets,"_ The choirs all came together as a firm wave of sound, not a dry eye in sight as _fortissimo_ was grasped one final time.

_"They stole our hearts away!"_

That they certainly did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before and I'll say it again –– it has been a pleasure. Thank you so very much for being a wonderful part of this adventure. Hope you enjoyed this last chapter, that you have a lovely day, and that you have the best of success in your own endeavors!


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